Witchcraft
by Kilarra
Summary: The Black Blood is interesting. How does it work? How does it trigger and feed into Madness? How is he supposed to have it flowing through him without descending into Insanity? Crona needs to know. Unfortunately, he's not the only one asking. And she has another question: what would happen if Crona lost control? CronaxMaka
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Why hello there! I discovered Soul Eater just recently, while I was dealing with a mental health crisis of my own, and absolutely fell in love with Crona. This is my very first Soul Eater fiction, so hopefully I've managed to capture the characters. I have aged them a few years, just because I didn't feel it was appropriate to tell the story I want to tell with such young folks. So as you read, think mid-teens. Also, although not overall disturbing or graphic, there will be parts that were written to be unsettling or explicit, so I've categorized this as horror and given it a mature rating. It also has a fair amount of romance and (perhaps obviously) Soul Eater style science. I'm a chemist, so I couldn't pass up such an opportunity.**

 **Any way, that is everything I have to say! Hopefully you all have as much fun reading as I did writing!**

* * *

 _Why are you shaking?_

Because… I'm afraid.

 _What are you afraid of?_

Everything…

 _Yes, but what specifically?_

Everything.

 _Crona, tell me. What do you fear? What scares you more than anything else?_

Snakes coiling around his body. Binding his arms, holding him helpless. Not that this is any different from usual. He was always helpless before her. Always bound by her serpents. Their smooth bodies press into him, constricting, encasing him in a living shell of writhing mass. They're so cold. He can feel them. Around his throat. Forked tongues whisper at his jaw line.

 _It's pointless to resist; you're mine. You could never betray me. You were made to be used by me. I created you, formed you from my own flesh for my own purpose. There is no other life._

But that wasn't right. He wasn't hers. Not anymore. He was a person, not an object. He had a choice and he'd chosen to leave her.

 _Now Crona, that's simply not true. I never gave you the ability to choose. Everything you have ever done has been according to my wishes. Is that what you fear? Being my vessel? Being my puppet?_

A snake presses the pit of its nose to his lips. It's trying to get into his mouth. It's trying to slither down into his stomach and take over his body. Displace his mind. Override his soul.

He can't. His lips tighten over his clenched teeth and he tries to turn away. He doesn't want that thing inside him. Not again. Never again. The serpents around his neck hold him in place, tightening, choking him. If he panics, if he opens his mouth to gasp, to suck in air, then the snake will get in. In the past he would never have lasted this long, but things are different now. People are there for him. They call him their friend. Crona has friends, but if the snake gets back into him that won't matter. He'll hurt them… He'll kill them… He doesn't want to kill them. Doesn't want to kill her.

 _You've always been a disappointing child. So fragile. You allowed those people to break you and call it friendship, how pathetic. No matter; I'll take the results from this failed experiment and make a new child. It will be simpler this time. As for you, Crona. You can just die. Perhaps_ _ **that**_ _is what you fear the most. Let's test it, shall we?_

Something's gotten in. He can feel it in his gut. In one side and out the other. It's cut through him. Only after that realization does the pain hit, like nothing he's ever felt before. Aching, burning, tearing, agony. The pain is fine. He knows how to deal with pain. But this cold, this sensation of draining, the wetness. Death is coming and he's not ready yet. A scream boils in his stomach, but it can't get out with the blood. It needs to find another way. His lips part as he tries to release it, but the snake is too fast. It dives into his mouth, stifling his voice and burrowing down his throat. His eyes roll back and then… Then he's not Crona anymore.

He woke up in terror, sweating and shaking and flailing. The bed sheets cocooned him and, when he'd been falling asleep, the swaddling had been comforting. Now it felt like something else. He hit the wooden floor hard, kicking and clawing, trying to escape from the cloth and the reptiles it represented. His breath came in erratic pants, somehow synchronizing with the wild darting motions his eyes were making. Blackness. Everywhere was blackness. Just like his blood.

His back hit the wall and he curled into it, scooting across the floor until he could feel the twin pressure of a corner. Only then did reason take its first tentative steps back into his mind. Shaking violently, Crona pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face into them. He was awake, in his room, away from Medusa. Somewhere inside he understood that. And yet. And yet!

"Seriously, this again?! Of all the meisters I had to get stuck with the most pathetic one on the face of the planet." Ragnarok loomed over Crona's head, taking a fistful of his pale pink hair and giving it a tug. When the meister didn't respond he hesitated, reconsidering the situation. Then he tugged harder, attempting to forcibly jerk him out of his stupor.

"Ragnarok…" Crona choked, gripping his knees more tightly. "I… I'm scared…I don't know what to do…"

"Come on Crona, it's just a dumb dream. You've had these before, just get over it!"

The pounding of his heart was overwhelming, nausea rolled in his stomach, sweat poured down his face and back. Death was coming; death was coming for him. There was nothing he could do, no way to slow it, no way to stop it. Madness creeping in his flesh, eroding him, cutting him, until there was nothing left. No life. No friends. No Crona. He couldn't breathe. His gasps were doing nothing. Death was coming.

"Hey man, you okay in here?" Soul's voice sounded from the door, rich and warm, but low. Quiet. "I thought I heard something fall. Crona?"

The weapon's crimson eyes swept the room, narrowing when he didn't immediately find the telltale lump of someone in bed. Then he caught sight of Ragnarok pulling fistfuls of Crona's hair in the corner and recognition hardened on his face. In three steps he was kneeling before the swordsman, pointed teeth set.

"Crona, listen to me. You are safe. This is a panic attack; you'll be fine."

"Dumb ass! I tried that already!"

"Shit," Soul swore, digging into his sleep addled brain, trying to remember what he was supposed to do when this happened.

"Uhg, do something. He's gonna pass out soon. I'm getting all woozy…" Ragnarok released Crona's hair and collapsed on top of his head.

"Listen man, you're hyperventilating. You need to slow your breathing. Crona? Crona, can you look at me?"

"S-Soul?" The pink-haired meister looked up from his knees tentatively. His eyes were wide and pale, ice blue. Still tied up in terror. "Soul, I- The snakes… The snakes got inside me…"

"Crona, there aren't any snakes inside you. I'm going to touch you, okay? Focus on taking slow, deep breaths. Here, we'll do it together. I'm gonna count to ten? Just focus on breathing with me." He put his hands lightly on the other's shoulders, maintaining a steady eye contact as if he could calm the frantic pants emitting from his mouth with the force of his gaze alone. Crona trembled beneath him, shaking so violently his teeth chattered.

"One," Soul started, inhaling slowly and deeply through his nose. Crona tried to follow suit, taking in a few sequential puffs. The weapon smiled encouragingly and let it out in a long, slow sigh. "That's good Crona, that's really good. Two."

They continued like that for several minutes, until Crona's breaths became more regular and he could hold his eyes in focus for more than a second. He was out of the woods, but still trembling pretty badly and Soul got the distinct impression that he was still in an extremely fragile state. Crap, now what.

"Where are your meds," he asked in a soft yet firm tone, looking intently at his charge. Even if he looked stable, Stein had explained that the panic attacks were biochemical in nature. Crona only had so much cognitive control; he was going to need help for the crisis to pass.

"B-bedside c-c-cabinet."

"Alright. I'm going to grab them for you, then get some water."

"No!" Crona's hand moved with lightning speed, his long fingers curling in Soul's shirt as he tried to move. His breath had quickened and his eyes were wide again. "D-don't leave me. I-I don't know how t-to deal with b-b-being alone right now."

"Okay…" Soul licked his lips, wondering if he needed to call for Maka. He hadn't wanted to wake her, but at the moment he wasn't seeing a lot of other options. "Wanna come with me? Can you walk?"

"I feel sick…"

"Meow, what's all the fuss about?" A purple-black cat in a witch's hat strode into the room, long tail held high in a friendly question mark. Her lamp-like eyes glinted in the dark as she surveyed the scene, taking in Crona huddled in the corner, Soul crouched before him, and Ragnarok still lounging in a field of pink hair. She blinked slowly.

"Blair," Soul snapped, urgency masking his relief. "Blair, listen: go grab Crona's meds, get some water, and for the love of god put some clothes on before you come back in here. Now!"

"Blair couldn't possibly do all of that now." Blair yawned, sitting down. "It's too much for me all by my lonesome."

"Blair, damn it, this is important!" She lifted a paw and began to groom. Lost cause. He turned his attention back to the shaking meister. Crona had the fingers of his other hand knotted in his hair and was starting to rock.

"Shit. Crona? Can Blair stay with you while I grab your meds? Would that be okay?"

He started, giving Soul a wild look. For a moment he looked like the fear had taken over him again and he'd forgotten anyone else was even there. Then recognition came onto his face and he gave a sharp nod. His breath was getting fast again, sweat dampening his face and making his hair stick. Inside, death was still coming. The worst was still happening. Blair blinked again, weighing her options and deciding to trot over to Crona's side.

"Just don't pull my tail," she said, slinking her way between his knees and chest and settling in his lap. Her purrs rumbled in his stomach, reverberating against his scar. They were warm and rhythmic and... he found himself able to breathe to that rhythm. Soul felt Crona's fingers loosen in the folds of his shirt, then fall away. "And don't let that Weapon of yours pull it either."

* * *

"Morning Soul," Maka's voice was bright as usual, unstained by the previous nights events. This was both uplifting and annoying. Soul palmed his forehead, brushing white hair out of his face and taking a seat at the table. Maka's brow creased at the extra gruffness of his demeanor. "I made eggs."

"Thanks," he groaned, letting out a heavy sigh as his hand moved to his shoulder. The muscles crunched beneath his fingertips.

"Rough night?" The inquiry was unassuming, possibly even covert if you were liberal with the definition. Soul gave her a look, which she magnified, placing a plate of fried eggs in front of him with a little more zeal than was absolutely necessary. Benefit of the doubt rescinded. He felt his lips twitch in a grin, amused at how typically Maka it was.

"Crona had another panic attack." Maka tensed, setting down a spatula and abandoning the pan on the stove and moving intently towards Crona's room. In a flash Soul was back on his feet, grabbing her arm and giving her a freezing look. "He's fine now. He's sleeping it off."

"Again?" It was more of a cry than a question, her voice suddenly tired. "Why does this keep happening to him? I thought we were past these!"

"Stein told us when he moved in: these sorts of things are going to happen, probably for the rest of his life. But they don't have to be a big deal; it's getting better."

"I doubt that."

"Look, I was there last night. We got his breathing under control just like Stein taught us, Blair and I got his meds, and in less than an hour he'd calmed down and was back asleep. It went well. I'm just sore from sleeping on his floor; that's all."

"Thank you," Maka said after a pause. She looked back over her shoulder at him, smiling warmly. Her emerald eyes held a rare softness reserved only for himself and Crona, which made him grin again. Soul released her arm and she went back to her eggs, cracking another one into the smoking pan. "For staying with him."

"What're friends for?"

"Do you know what triggered it?"

"Nightmare," he said, settling back at the table and attacking his eggs. "Said something about snakes being inside him. Doubt he'll remember it, though. I think those pills mess with him."

"Professor Stein said this new medication might alter his short term memory... Do you think he'll be up soon? Should I make him an egg?"

"You d-don't have to do that Maka." Both she and Soul started, turning back towards the bedrooms. Crona's eyes peered back at them from the middle door, though the rest of his face was still obscured by the wood. Blair slipped between his feet, strutting into the kitchen and jumping on the table.

" _I_ would like an egg," she cooed, batting her cat eyes at Maka and looking cute. "Or a fish, since you're already cooking."

"Good morning Crona," Maka ignored Blair, taking the pan off the heat and moving back towards the shy meister. She stopped just short of the threshold, bending over and smiling as she tried to catch his eye. "Are you hungry? If you want something it's really not a problem. I've already got my apron on."

"Oh." Crona opened the door a little further and stepped out. He'd been living with them for a couple of months, but still the idea of someone else doing anything at all for him made him minimally uncomfortable. Both she and Soul had learned to be extra delicate with their phrasing, convincing him each time that it wasn't a bother. Eventually, they hoped he'd believe them.

"Food? Are we talking about food? I'm starving!" Ragnarok burst out of Crona's back, arching over his head and surveying the kitchen. The movement seemed to take a lot out of him and he collapsed into the mess of pink hair, making a frustrated noise. "Jesus, I thought drugs were supposed to make you feel good. This is awful!"

"S-sorry. I didn't-"

"You don't have to apologize Crona," Maka said in a curt voice, reaching over and taking the meister's hand in hers. "Come have some eggs while they're still warm."

"How're doing," greeted Soul, swallowing a large mouthful of egg to give the pink-haired meister a formal smile. Crona's eyes darted to him, then away again as he settled at the table. His fingers twisted in his lap and Soul's lips twitched. "What's up?"

"N-nothing. Everything's fine."

"Crona, I can see you shaking. I get it, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but don't lie about it."

"Ignore him," Ragnarok said, reaching over and taking a fistful off Soul's plate.

"Hey!"

"He just heard you two talking. Thinks he should move out again. Moron, like he'd survive a day on his own. This idiot can't even dress himself without help."

"Ragnarok," Crona squeaked, his face warming and his eyes going wide. They all sat silently for a moment, with the exception of Blair and Ragnarok, who's combined eating noises were deafening in the stillness.

"Crona… you know that we like having you here, right?" Maka's voice was soft and earnest, like late afternoon sunlight. She settled into the chair next to Crona, placing her hands out onto the table palm up. An invitation.

"What brought this on?" Soul leaned back, his face clouding in confusion.

"I-" Crona refused to look at either of them, twisting his fingers more forcefully in his lap. Shrinking away into the chair. "I had another panic attack last night. I can't stop them from happening. I don't know how to make them stop. Maka's sad because I can't make them stop and Soul's sore from sleeping on my floor and… and…"

"Listen: I don't care about being sore, alright? I would sleep on your floor every night if that's what it took."

"You can't tell me you want to sleep on my floor. That's a lie and I don't like it when you lie to me."

The crimson-eyed boy deflated a little, running his tongue over his teeth as he thought of a way to respond to that. Maka beat him to it.

"Soul doesn't mean that he _wants_ to sleep on your floor, just that he's happy to do it if the need arises. We both are. And I'm not sad that you can't make yourself stop having panic attacks. I'm sad that you have to deal with them in the first place."

"Lies…"

"You don't get to tell us what we feel. Crona, I need you to look at me." He shuddered as if she'd asked him to do something horribly unpleasant, his body going wire taught. But he looked up anyway, his big, dark grey eyes like heavy storm clouds both in color and in tone. Maka blinked at him, her own eyes firm and faceted, reflecting more emotions than he believed a human being capable of experiencing at all, much less at the same time.

"Why would we lie?"

"Because I'm pathetic and you don't want to hurt my feelings because if you hurt my feelings then I might leave and if I left I would die because I don't know how to take care of myself."

"Dummy." Maka wanted to touch him. Badly. She wanted to brush the hair from his eyes and hold him against her chest, cradling his soul until he understood. But that wasn't their arrangement. Crona was still afraid of being touched too much, but he wouldn't admit to being uncomfortable under any circumstance, so she had to wait for him to come to her. She gave her fingers a wiggle, reminding him that they were there.

"Lying to you is what would make you leave, right? And we want you to stay. Besides, have either Soul or I ever lied to you before?"

"I don't know. I don't think so." Crona's eyes shifted around the room, like some sort of trapped animal. Soul gave her a warning look, causing Maka to let out a small sigh. Gingerly, she let her hands slip off the tabletop into her lap. Grey eyes watched them fall, expression unreadable.

"I suck at lying," said Soul, chuckling a little at himself. "Besides, I've got no reason to lie to you about anything, Crona. We're friends, so that means we're honest with each other, right?"

"I guess so… It's just… I hate being such a burden to you. Ragnarok's right; I'm useless."

"Ragnarok is so busy stuffing his face he probably won't even notice if I point out that he's never been right about anything. Especially anything concerning you." Maka smirked, shooting the Demon Sword a look. He glowered silently at her for a moment before returning to his own battle with Blair over a piece of toast.

"You're not a burden Crona; I wish you would trust us enough to believe that."

"I do trust you." Crona murmured. "More than I've ever trusted anything before in my life."

"Do you even remember last night," Soul asked, his tone starting to get a little exasperated. "You're making such a fuss about it; do you even know what happened?"

"Yes…" Crona started, uncertain. His brow knit. "The snakes got inside me and I was afraid. Then you came and… I could breathe again…"

"I found you hyperventilating in the corner, but we used one of those breathing techniques Stein taught us to get it under control. Then you told me where your meds were, I got them for you, and everything was fine. You handled it Crona. It was really impressive."

He flushed, averting his eyes.

"Yeah, if you think someone drinking some water and not peeing themselves is impressive."

"You: not helping."

"Don't you see Crona," Maka cut in, bending over the table so she could see under his uneven bangs. "You're doing really well. And not just with the panic attacks, at school and around the apartment too. Just yesterday you did the dishes and you scored better than Soul on our last exam. You used to get these attacks all the time after you recovered from your injury but now, this is the first one in weeks. I'm not saying it was nothing, but try not to fixate so much on the bad, okay?"

"Okay…" He looked up at her, the tiniest of curves tugging at his mouth. Then his eyes moved to Soul and the smile got a little bigger. "Thank you. For being with me last night."

"Don't mention it." Soul gave him a thumbs up, ignoring the fact that between Ragnarok and Blair, his breakfast was gone. Maka noticed, her chair making a scraping noise as she got up to rectify the situation. Crona reached out after her, his fingers gently brushing the back of her hand and causing her to pause. She turned, giving him a quizzical look.

"Thank you," he mumbled, blushing a little, his hand still hovering in the air close to hers. Maka smiled, closing the distance between them and interlacing her fingers with his.

"For what?"

"Just… Thank you. I don't think I could deal with the world without you."

She leaned down, brushing her forehead against his and smiling broadly. Warmth bubbled in her stomach, swelling up into her chest. Judging by Crona's blush, he was feeling something similar.

"You're welcome."


	2. Chapter 2

"That looks really nice Crona! Aright, now all that's left is the salad. Do you want to help me with that too or have you had enough?"

"No, I- I think I can deal with making a salad. What should I do?"

"Here, I'll chop the vegetables, then you can put them in the salad spinner. Does that sound alright?"

"Yes, I think so."

Tsubaki smiled at him, somehow managing to make even the large knife in her had look gentle and inviting. Crona blushed, looking away. His grey gaze settled on the array of food set out along the table to his left. They were going to have a picnic later after group resonance training. He was helping Tsubaki make that picnic. It had been Maka's idea, indirectly. She's suggested he find a hobby, which he didn't understand. Ragnarok had said that killing people was their hobby, but Maka hadn't liked that and, honestly, Crona hadn't really liked it either. He'd never enjoyed killing people, and a hobby was supposed to be something you enjoyed. Killing was Ragnarok's hobby, not his.

Thus he began hobby experiments. Doing push-ups with Black Star had not been fun and, although he liked the detail work involved in organizing with Kid, trying to deal with the outbursts that accompanied any deviations from perfection had not been fun either. This led to Tsubaki offering to teach him how to cook, which he also didn't understand. But that had made Maka happy, so he'd agreed. That had been a week or so ago. So far his favorite hobby was doing puzzles with Maka, and he still wrote poems sometimes, but he liked cooking too. It felt useful and Crona enjoyed being useful.

"Tsubaki," he said quietly, feeling a sudden curiosity peek up inside him. Before he would've stifled the voice, forcing it back down deep into his soul. But now it felt safe to be curious, and expressing an interest in people was one of the best ways to learn how to deal with them. "May I… ask you some questions?"

"Of course. Please, feel free."

Crona looked back at Tsubaki, watching her cut a carrot into little rounds with stunning accuracy. He liked her quite a lot. When they were alone together… it wasn't comfortable like with Maka, but it wasn't frightening either. She was always gentle with him, always considerate and accommodating. Even Ragnarok liked her, complimenting her in the best way he knew how. Tsubaki was the only one who understood that and at least tried to tolerate the weapon without complaint. His curiosity burned in his throat.

"How did you learn to cook so well? Have you always known?"

"Oh no, I had to be taught just like everyone else. Actually, I had to ask to be taught. As the apprentice of my clan, my weapon training was the priority, but I wanted to be more than just a weapon. And I always liked the idea of preparing something that can make everyone happy."

"That's what I think I like about it too," Crona said, scooping up the pile of cut carrots and adding it to a specialized salad bowl. There were little holes in the side, which would allow excess water to be separated from the vegetables and drained into an external shell when the bowl was spun. He'd never seen anything like it before and was a little excited to see how it worked.

"Hopefully cooking makes you happy too," Tsubaki added brightly, getting started on some sort of white, crispy bulb. "It's important to make sure others are happy, but I've learned that you can't sacrifice too much of your own joy to do so."

Her hand slowed, her expression darkening just a little. But Crona could tell; something had upset her.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have asked," he apologized quickly, reaching across his front to grip his right arm just above the elbow.

"Not at all. It's okay Crona; I was just thinking about my brother." She paused, taking in a deep breath, and then continued to chop. Another pile appeared before Crona and he added it to the carrots. He should stop with the questions. Somewhere inside a voice told him to stop. But the curiosity hadn't been sated yet, and he wanted to know.

"I see… may I ask… what's a brother?"

"Huh?" Tsubaki looked at him in surprise, frowning a little. Crona looked away, recoiling into himself, wilting under the sudden scrutiny. Yet Tsubaki didn't ridicule or otherwise shame him. She answered.

"You know that Liz and Patty are sisters, right," she started slowly, going back to something he knew for sure.

"Yes."

"Do you know what that means?"

"That they're… parts of each other? They're connected?"

"Yes, that's exactly right," she laughed a little, but not at him. "Patty and Liz have the same parents."

"They have the same mother? Is she nice?"

"I don't know; you would need to ask them. Anyway, my brother and I are like that, except he was a boy and I'm a girl."

"You said he "was a boy," is he not anymore?" Tsubaki smiled sadly, bemused by the paradox that was Crona. Such danger packaged up with such innocence; sometimes it was impossible to believe. He blinked at her, uncertain.

"He killed many innocent people and became a Kishin Egg."

"The Academy hunts Kishin Eggs…"

"Yes. That's actually why I joined the DWMA: to stop my brother."

"Like Maka stopped me?"

A single tear glistened in her eyelashes, catching the light like morning dew. Yet still she smiled, serene, committed to suffering in silence. Crona felt his heart clench. What kind of horrible person would do this to her? They were having fun, making a salad to make everyone else happy. He was going to use the salad spinner, but then he went and made her sad.

"I'm sorry Miss Tsubaki! I'm the worst! Please don't cry! Please? I'll do anything to help you stop crying!"

"You don't need to be upset Crona," she said in a soft, beautiful voice, blinking away the tears and looking straight at him. "It's his fault, not yours. Besides, if I'd never come to the DWMA, then I would never have met Black Star, or Maka, or you. So many good things in my life come from attending this school. In many ways, I feel that I was made to be Black Star's partner and become a Death Scythe."

"I was made to become a Kishin."

The words slipped over his lips before he'd even realized they were in his mouth, dropping like lead onto the ground. Except lead would've been better. Lead would've stayed on the ground, not oozed all around them like a smog. Tsubaki was staring at him in absolute shock, as if she couldn't process that he'd actually said it, and Crona… Crona was shaking again.

"I-I-I'm s-so sorry! I sh-shouldn't h-have said that!"

"Please stop apologizing." Her voice ambiguously kind, soft in a way he didn't know how to describe. "We're friends, after all. I shared something very personal with you, it's completely normal for you to share something with me too. I'm touched. I would be really glad if you felt comfortable enough to talk to me about it. If you wanted to."

"No. No- I spoiled everything! You were being so nice and then I had to st-start asking questions! I should n-never have a-asked s-so many questions! I n-never used to!"

"Crona, it's alright. Really. Please don't be upset; there's no need. You're past is a part of who you are and you can talk about it, if you'd like. If not, then we can finish the salad. It's almost done."

"Y-You go ahead," Crona sniffed, wrapping his arms around his torso and backing away. "I-I'm no good at making salads."

"How do you know? This is your first salad."

Tsubaki gave him a warm, reassuring smile, blinking slowly. Crona didn't budge and, after a moment of waiting, she sighed. Returning to the task at hand, she held a head of lettuce under the tap for a bit before beginning to shred it, adding the dripping bits to the salad spinner chunk by chunk. When she was done, she secured the lid and attached the crank, preparing to spin off the extra water. But then she hesitated, glancing back towards the pink haired meister. He'd calmed down while watching her and was now staring at the crank with keen interest.

"Why don't you do this last part," she suggested, stepping back and holding out a hand, indicating that he should grab the crank.

"I can't," he said, eyes downcast. "I don't know how."

"Of course you don't; you're still learning. If you come over here, then I can show you."

Crona regarded the salad spinner like some sort of berry thicket, filled with thorns but also hiding fruits. It was clear that he wanted to, but was weighing the risks in his mind. Cautiously, he stepped towards her again, releasing one of his arms and going for the handle. The fear and embarrassment left him, making room for the bubble of curiosity which he couldn't stop from expanding in his chest.

"Grab it right here," Tsubaki instructed, guiding his hand into place. "And rotate clockwise."

She moved both his hand and the crank in a circle, which in turn spun the inner bowl. The outer bowl remained stationary. Crona tried again, moving in another circle. Then in another, then faster. After a couple of seconds filled with vigorous rotating, Tsubaki signaled him to stop. She lifted the lid and removed the inner bowl, which contained their mixed, not-soggy salad. A small pool of water was left behind in the outer shell. He stared at it, tilting his head to one side as he pondered.

"I wonder how that works," he whispered.

"Do you like asking questions," Tsubaki inquired gently, transferring the salad into a travel bowl and packing it with the rest of their picnic food. Crona blinked in bemusement. Did he?

"With Lady Medusa, I never questioned anything," he answered slowly. "Not out loud. But in my mind, the questions were always there. Things I wanted to know, things I didn't. Whenever I sat still for two long, the questions always came, and I didn't know how to deal with them."

"What about now," she probed, an idea forming in the back of her thoughts.

"It's less scary now, I guess," he said with a shrug. "I'm not so afraid to ask. Sometimes I even get answers. I think I like the answers more than I like the questions."

"Have you ever considered talking to Professor Stein about these questions?"

"Professor Stein? No. Why?"

"Well, I know you've been looking for a hobby, and it just so happens that asking questions is Professor Stein's hobby."

* * *

"This is absolutely phenomenal," Maka repeated, swallowing another mouthful of cucumber sandwich. She'd never shown a particular enthusiasm for them before, which led Crona to wonder if these sandwiches were, in fact, phenomenal, or if she was just exaggerating for his benefit. Soul didn't have to wonder. The food was exceptional, no question, but Maka wasn't the type to go too out of her way to point stuff like that out.

That, and he'd been standing right next to her when she'd asked Tsubaki about Crona's cooking lesson. After his panic attack the night before and subsequent ideas about moving onto the street, she was a little worried. Understandable; he was worried too. But Maka had a very special, very unique set of feelings for Crona. She would do things for him she didn't do for other people. Soul knew her better than anyone, and yet even he didn't understand it. How could he? Maka herself hadn't yet clarified her feelings for the Sword Meister. All anyone knew was that Crona was important to her. _Very_ important.

"Did you do anything special this time, Tsubaki," Soul added, deciding that boosting Crona's self-confidence was in everybody's best interests. He bit into another sandwich himself, chewing it slowly. That, and these things were actually really good.

"Actually, Crona did. He recommended we add a little lemon this time." All eyes turned towards the pink haired meister, who flushed under the attention, curling away.

"It was nothing, really," he insisted, holding up his hands and waving off their admiration. "I just noticed that lemon is really common in other recipes with dill and mayonnaise and thought it might be good in the sandwiches too."

"Come on, don't be so modest! No one can hope to be as big a star as I am, but you should still celebrate your accomplishments!" It was hard to distinguish which words, specifically, Black Star had used through the sandwich and a half he had stuffed in his mouth. But that was the gist. Crona smiled back at him a little. It was taking some time, but he was starting to understand how to deal with the blue-haired god-surpasser.

"I helped with the salad too," he added tentatively, watching for the other's reaction. "Tsubaki taught me how to use the salad spinner."

"Really? You figured out how to use that thing?" Black Star looked surprised, like he'd just learned Crona had earned some sort of advanced degree in a highly technical field. The pink-haired meister blushed even deeper, his fingers inching their way across the blanket towards Maka's. She smiled, closing the gap and giving him a sideways look.

"Tsubaki taught me."

"I've tried to teach Black Star too but… let's just say kitchen tools aren't really his strong suit."

"Huh, of course they aren't. If I was as awesome at everything as I am at fighting, the world would explode. I wouldn't want everyone to die because they couldn't handle how amazing I am."

He folded his arms, pouting for a moment. Soul waved a half-eaten sandwich in his general direction, smirking.

"You just don't want to admit that, in the kitchen, Crona's a bigger man than you."

"No one's a bigger man than me!" Nevertheless, Black Star leaned across the blanket, holding up a hand so he could whisper into Crona's ear. "Seriously though, you know how to use that thing?"

"Y-yes. I do now." Something sort of like a hiccup came out with the words and Crona went scarlet, gripping Maka's hand more tightly. She understood, picking up the book she'd brought in case they had any downtime. It was a paperback, but it would do.

"Maka Chop," she said playfully, bringing the spine down on Black Star's head. He howled, bouncing back to the other side of the blanket and shooting her a dirty look. "Stay out of Crona's personal space."

"Why? You're not."

"Shouldn't Kid be back by now," Soul changed the subject, defending his meister covertly. "He was just going to get changed. At this rate there won't be any food left, especially if Ragnarok decides he's hungry again."

"His loss," snorted Black Star, stuffing another sandwich in his mouth. "He should've just sat down with the rest of us after practice. Stupid Kid. Explain to me again why he can't sit on the ground in that suit?"

"Because there's no way I could possibly guarantee that the resulting wrinkles would be symmetrical." Kid stepped into their clearing, hands shoved into the pockets of his black jeans. It was subtle, but there was a little pocket contained within the larger one on both sides, and only the middle eight buttons on his shirt were done, allowing the fabric to flare out around his neck and hips at identical angles.

"Hey Kid! Glad you made it back!"

"What took you so long?"

"Yes, sorry about that. For once it wasn't me; Patty made a new friend."

"Are Liz and Patty still coming," Crona asked, sounding hopeful. He wanted to ask if their mother was nice. As if on cue, Liz's shouts shook the trees, announcing her imminent arrival.

"Damn it Patty, put it down! It doesn't want to be held!"

"No! He wants to be snuggled! Why would he be so cute and fluffy if he didn't want to be snuggled!"

A tall, longhaired blond girl emerged from the trees, looking exasperated. She gave them all an apologetic look, rolling her eyes at her sister's antics. Another followed her, still blond but shorter and more curvaceous. There was a small, struggling creature in her hands, its tiny paws flailing as its spine arced this way and that. Its long ears flopped, its little nose twitched. Crona went cold inside.

 _Defeat it._

"Crona? Are you alright," Maka asked, noticing the hand she still held in hers start to tremble and sweat. She looked inquisitively over at the Sword Meister, brow knitting in concern. His breath had gone shallow, his eyes wide and ice blue. Thin lips curled back against clenched teeth, more of a grimace than a smile, and a low giggle had started in his chest.

"Hey man," Soul tried softly, reaching over into their bag and pulling out an amber bottle. He offered it to Crona, who didn't respond in the slightest. His gaze was fixed on the bunny, shaking. Soul had never seen him react like this before, but Stein had been specific: if it even looked like he was having a panic attack, offer him the meds.

"Do you need these?"

 _Defeat it Crona. Defeat it and grow closer to becoming a Kishin._

"I'm a Kishin," he whispered, the giggle escalating in his throat. Suddenly he pulled away from Maka, getting to his feet and stumbling back. His fingers knotted in his hair and the laughter mixed with screams. "I am a Kishin."

"Goobee!" Ragnarok burst from Crona's back, eliciting another scream from the meister. He looked bigger, like he was drawing more blood than usual, and there was some expression in his featureless face they couldn't identify. Twisting his head at an odd angle, his gaze fell onto the bunny in Patty's arms, which had gone rigid in fear.

"Kill it," he commanded, his voice hard and frozen. The Demon Swordsman slackened at his weapon's words, going still and limp. "Kill it Crona! Kill it!"

"Yes. Yes, I understand." Ragnarok flowed down Crona's arm, forming a hilt in his palm. He grasped it, looking up through his bangs with wild eyes, mouth deformed into the sort of insane, mirthless smile he'd had when he'd first tried to kill Maka. It was as if the rest of them weren't even there, as if the entire world had fallen away, leaving only him and the object of his fear. The trembling bunny. He ran Ragnarok's blade along his forearm, bringing forth a line of black blood.

"Bye bye Little One."

"Crona stop!" Maka was on her feet and standing in front of him in an instant. He acted like he didn't see her, raising his arm, preparing to fling the blood at the bunny. Preparing to cut it into tiny bits. She balled her hand into a fist and punched him in the crook of the elbow, stunning him. That got his attention. His blue eyes slid to her, shaking, unrecognizing.

"I can't. I have to do it. She'll be mad if I don't. She'll put me in the darkness and I don't know how to deal with being in the darkness."

"Medusa's dead! She can't put you in the darkness Crona! You're safe! Stop this, please!" Maka's hands curled around his wrists, holding them to his sides as her emerald eyes searched his. There was nothing in them, just a whirlpool of blinding fear. She could feel him shaking. His hot blood wetting her palm, running slowly over her skin.

"No. No, you're wrong! She's here. She's always here." He looked past Maka, over to the Little One. Over to where Lady Medusa was standing. Her yellow nails dug into the Little One's neck as she held it out to him. There was no sympathy in her expression, no compromise. Her bare feet pressed into an earth that was oozing. Dark liquid with a garnet sheen, flowing across the grass, hands rising towards him with gooey fingers outstretched. The world around her bent and swirled, twisting until her overwhelming presence swallowed the sunlight entirely.

"How many times have we done this? Defiance gets you nowhere." Her voice resonated in his head, overpowering, consuming. It made him laugh to hear that voice again. "Defeat it Crona."

"Yes. Yes I understand. I understand. Bye bye Little One. Bye. Bye Little One."

"Patty, put the rabbit down," commanded Kid, holding out one arm in front of her protectively. His gaze remained fixed on the Demon Swordsman, unflinching and unblinking. It wasn't entirely clear to him what had happened or why, just that the Little One was the rabbit and Crona meant to kill the Little One.

"No! This is mine!" Patty had her own insanity about her, clutching the fur ball tighter into her chest. "If he wants it he'll just have to come over here and try to take it."

"Maka!" Soul made a move towards her, but froze, his eyes going wide. The scar across his chest ached, like it was pulling all the blood in his body into itself, swelling. Inside his mind, his own demon grinned. "Be careful. It's not good. I can feel his Madness from here."

"Then stay back, Soul. Everyone, just stay back! I can deal with this."

"Tsubaki," Black Star said quietly, summoning his weapon to him and side stepping around the blanket. Whatever happened next, they were ready.

"Black Star, please be gentle. Try not to hurt him," Tsubaki asked, her face flashing in the sickle blade. He gave her a sharp nod, his gaze never leaving its target.

"Bye Little One. Bye. Bye." Crona shook with laughter and fear, offering little to no resistance as Maka continued to hold his arms in place. Ragnarok's lips formed on the black blade, his long, red tongue whipping through the air.

"What are you doing! Don't just stand there idiot! Kill it Crona! Kill it now!"

"Hey everyone, did you know? My blood is black. Isn't that funny? My blood is black, so I'm going to defeat the Little One! Are you having fun? I sure am. This is so much fun. Too bad the Little One has to go now."

Maka felt something wet slide past her ankle and, with sinking horror, she understood what it was. A pool of black blood had collected at Crona's feet, fed by the steady drips from his arm, growing until it could swallow the rabbit whole. His smile widened as the blood slithered through the grass, across the blanket towards Patty, who didn't seem to notice it.

"Look out!"

"Bloody Needle…"

Patty started, still clutching the bunny even as the pike of black shot towards her. It impacted flesh, but it wasn't Patty's. Kid winced as it tore through his back, his arms wrapped around his weapon partner. Blood sprayed through the air. Together, the two fell to the ground, and Patty's grip slackened. The rabbit took its chance, squirming out of her grip and taking off into the brush. Crona's head twitched, his eyes tracking its trail.

"Not that way. You can't get away from me that way. You can't get away from me Little One." He tried to follow, abandoning the group to pursue this furry thing, but something held him in place. Maka still had his wrists, and she had no intention of releasing them.

"Stop this Crona," she pleaded, willing him to meet her eye. "This isn't you. Please stop it."

"Are you afraid?" He blinked, moving his gaze to her. "You remind me of the Little One. You always have. How did you get here, I wonder. Why-why are you crying?"

"Because I'm sad," she said in a quiet voice, leaning into him, nuzzling into the collar of his robe. He tensed beneath her, his pulse racing, pounding into her cheek through the white fabric. "My friend is hurting and I don't know why. Tell me what's wrong Crona. Why are you doing this?"

"I-I don't want to," he said, staring straight forward over her hair, expression blank. "I never wanted to. I'm scared. But I need to. Lady Medusa will punish us if I don't. I'm more afraid of her than I am of the Little One."

"Medusa's not here. She's gone, she's never coming back."

"Y-yes she is! She's right over there! I can see her staring at me! I have to defeat the Little One now! She won't tell me a second time!" Tears were collecting in his eyes, pain working its way past the Madness and into his features. "Please let me go. Please let me do it."

"Crona," she asked softly, still leaning into his chest. "Do you know who I am?"

He inhaled sharply, blinking for the first time. The trembling in his limbs began to die down, his pulse slowing. Relaxing back into a more normal range.

"M-Maka!" Crona turned his head a little, looking down at her, watching her rise and fall with his chest. Smelling her hair… nothing artificial like fruit or spice, just natural Maka smell. A good smell. She had her eyes closed. He felt her hands around his wrists, felt the rush of Ragnarok returning to his blood stream. And beyond the physical, on a beach that had been a desert for so long, he felt her hold him. Suddenly the strength left his limbs and he crumpled to the ground, dragging Maka down with him. Sobs replaced the laughter in his chest, his eyes watering uncontrollably.

"M-Maka I-I attacked Patty! I h-hurt K-Kid. Why? Why did I do that?"

"Shh," she soothed, releasing his arms. But before he had a chance to cover his face she pulled him into her chest, wrapping one arm around his back. With the other she cradled his head, stroking his hair as he wept, his long, thin fingers balled in her sweater vest. Her own tears glistened in the afternoon light, burning with pain and frustration and confusion. "Shh, it's alright now. It's over. Shh."


	3. Chapter 3

He was numb. In his mind, in his body, and in his soul. Absolutely numb. There were others, people around him, talking, moving, touching. But he didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not just now.

"How long has he been like this," Professor Stein asked, lighting a cigarette and regarding his patient. The panes of his glasses glared, obscuring his eyes and eliminating any chance they might've had of reading his expression.

"Since he stopped crying," Soul answered, brushing white hair from his eyes and glancing back over at the meister. He had legs pulled up to his chest, face buried in his knees. "Just after he took his meds."

"So he did take them."

"Yes," Maka said, wiping her still bloody palm on her skirt nervously. "They help a lot."

"How many?"

"Just one."

"How fast?"

"Within fifteen minutes. I think this prescription is really working."

"What does Crona think?"

"Well… he…" Maka struggled for words, her gaze darting back over to the pink haired meister.

"He doesn't remember much after taking them," Soul said, putting a hand on Maka's shoulder. His crimson stare was hard and ambiguous as usual. Obviously thinking, but guarded. Stein took a long drag, releasing a large puff of smoke into the wind.

"That's not unusual. Do you know what triggered the episode?"

"It was Patty," Kid answered, coming up to Stein's elbow. His Reaper body had already healed the cut made by Crona's black blood, but his shirt had no such power. The fabric hung in shreds, fraying, brushing his bare flesh as he moved. It took a great deal of self-control and compassion for his friend's suffering for Kid to ignore that. Refusing to be distracted, he continued. "She found some wild rabbit and was bringing it to the picnic to show everyone."

"Strange. We don't get a lot of wild rabbits in this park. Especially given the fact we're in the middle of the desert." He took another pull on the cigarette. "Do any of you know why he reacted so violently to it?"

"No… He kept calling it "the Little One" and saying that Medusa had ordered him to defeat it. I haven't seen him like that since…" she trailed off, grasping at her forearm. Her eyes fell back to Crona, who visibly tensed when she'd mentioned the Little One. Stein noticed as well.

"Crona," he called. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"No. Go away. I want to be alone."

"That wouldn't be healthy right now."

"I can't tell you about the Little One. I don't know anything about it."

Professor Stein finished his cigarette, pinching out the end with his fingers and stuffing it into his lab coat pocket. His other hand grasped the screw in his head, rotating it half a turn. The clicking sound was deafening.

"I said I don't know!"

"Crona you don't have to get upset." Maka turned her back on Stein, moving to Crona's side and placing a warm hand on his back. "We just want to help."

He peered up at her, moving just enough so that he could look over his folded elbow. His eyes were still ice blue, even though they'd gotten the fear under control. For a moment he just stared at her, expression cryptic. Then his eyes moved to the others, sweeping over all of them and lingering on Kid. On the tear in his shirt, the exposed skin underneath. Fresh tears welled to the surface and he ducked away, curling into an even tighter ball. Maka rubbed small circles between his shoulder blades.

"I'm fine you know," Kid said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you recall, you can't hurt me with attacks like that."

"I saw the blood," Crona murmured. "It wasn't mine. It wasn't black."

"But you weren't trying to hurt Kid, right Crona?"

"No… No I was just trying to defeat the Little One. I didn't mean to hurt anyone else, but I did. I always do."

"We want to help you, Crona, but we need to know what happened in order to do so. You need to tell us about the Little One. What was it about that rabbit that made you so afraid? If you answer now, you probably won't remember later."

Crona looked up a little, twisting so he could stare at Stein directly.

"I won't remember telling you? Because of the pill?"

"Yes that's right. You can tell us while the drug is still in your system, if that makes it easier."

He lifted his head higher, allowing them to see his face. There was a sort of defiance to it, and an indignation, as if he didn't appreciate being patronized. But he started when Maka stopped rubbing his back, his attention snapping to her. She smiled encouragingly, flicking her gaze at Stein briefly before returning it to him. Crona swallowed hard, addressing her and no one else.

"I thought it was a dragon," he almost whispered. "That's how I remember it: a tiny black dragon that spat fire at me. Lady Medusa made me defeat it again and again, over and over. I didn't want to, but if I didn't she'd leave me alone in the darkness. I remember being so hungry, so thirsty, and Ragnarok hated it more than I did. He was meaner back then; he'd hurt me until she came back. Each time I said no she left me for longer and longer, until I stopped saying no. Then until I stopped hesitating. When I could defeat the Little One on command, she told me I'd done well. Then she'd let me eat and Ragnarok was happy…

"I thought I was done with the Little One. I thought I wouldn't have to defeat it anymore! But then… then… I saw it and… and…" He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching up his face. When he opened them again they looked colder, harder. His gaze fixed on Soul, wide and unblinking. "I told you the snakes were inside me."

"Interesting," muttered Stein, grabbing his chin and giving Crona an analytical look. "What do you mean by that Crona?"

"It was just a stupid nightmare," spat Soul, trying to hide how unnerved he felt. "What's it to you?"

"Maka, the first time you saw Crona, the first time you saw his and Ragnarok's souls, did you see the snake too?"

"Huh?" She blinked, frowning as she tried to remember. Crona's eyes shifted up towards Stein, narrowing. "No… I didn't…"

"You were less experienced then, so it's not surprising. There _was_ a snake inside Crona that first night. I saw it wrapped around his soul. I've always wondered what it was doing there. Crona, do you know?" His sharp olive eyes caught Crona's and the Sword Meister flinched away, hiding his face back in his knees. Still, he answered.

"It made me not me. It stopped me from caring. Inside, Lady Medusa made me do things slowly, but when she took me out to feed… I didn't want to- I never wanted to. But she'd say something and then… then I wanted to. Then everything she told me to do was good. I know that's not right now, but back then I… I didn't understand."

He was beginning to shake again, despite the meds, his back vibrating.

"The snakes make me feel cold inside and I don't like it. They make me into something else and I don't want to be that again. I don't want to leave. I don't want it to take me away! Not again…"

"That's enough," said Maka curtly, wrapping her arms around Crona's trembling form and shooting Stein a hard look. "We're done now. We're going home."

"No," Stein answered, returning both hands to his pockets. "I need to take some blood first to make sure he really is alright. Meet me in my laboratory. Marie is there and she can make you something hot. I'll be along shortly. The rest of you are free to leave. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

Maka opened her mouth to protest, but Crona reached out, brushing her forearm with the very tips of his fingers. Overruled, she begrudgingly helped the pink haired meister to his feet, supporting his chest until he found his balance. Soul gave the pair a commiserating grin, jerking his chin in the direction of Stein's laboratory. Returning the smile as best she could, Maka sent Crona forward to join up with the weapon, pausing at Stein's side for a moment.

"Just some blood." It was impossible to tell if it was a question or a command. Professor Stein chuckled softly, adjusting his glasses and refusing to meet her glare.

"Just some blood."

He waited for all the students to be out of sight before allowing his face to fall from neutral to slightly concerned. There were no snakes inside Crona now, that much was obvious. But there was something else, like an after image, a quickly fading imprint on his soul. If Maka had been more focused during the incident, she probably would've noticed it too. The marks of external influence. Wordlessly, he turned towards the trees, following the bunny's retreat exactly. He wasn't more than a couple dozen steps in when he found its corpse. A tiny ball of fur with glassy eyes and floppy ears, swollen and fresh. Beside it there was a centipede, also dead, its plated exterior shining dark red with congealed blood. There was a clotted thread connecting the centipede's tail to the rabbit's ear, hanging between the two cold forms. Stein pulled a sterile dish and a pair of forceps from his lab coat, collecting the centipede, and sealing it within the plastic. Then he returned to the lab, specimen bouncing in his pocket.

* * *

Maka wasn't particularly picky about her circumstance. Tight budget: that was how she grew up. Crappy weather: bring it on. Lousy travel arrangements: happened a couple times a week, why get upset? She had an excitable temper, that much was true, but getting truly, blood boiling, rage inducing angry? Only a select set of things could trigger that. One of those being anything that made her feel helpless.

Crona made her feel helpless.

Not the meister himself, but the tragedy that surrounded him like a fog, dogging him wherever he went, striking every time he became comfortable. She hated it. She wanted to make it go away. She wanted to make it stop, _before_ it broke his spirit again. She didn't even know what "it" was, but she wanted to make it stop.

Her emerald eyes stared up at the ceiling, a testament to how awake and awful she felt. Sleep was impossible. There were too many thoughts racing through her head, too many images and emotions. The Little One, trembling in Patty's arms, and Crona, trembling in hers. Maka didn't understand it- couldn't. She'd never done something she didn't want to do, or at least, never done something that she hadn't intended to do. Soul often laughed that there wasn't a force on earth that could _make_ her do anything, and she used to laugh with him. She'd thought strong souls could never be broken, that giving into another's will was just weakness of character. Maybe it was. But at what point did the desire to live begin to override strength? At what point did survival become more important than morality? How could you even define morality for someone raised in a closet, forced to kill bunnies or starve?

She had no right to judge Crona. No one did. He was the strongest of them all, living for so long in his own personal hell and yet still finding kindness within himself.

 _Uneven pink hair falls over ice blue eyes. Shoulders shake in an uncontrollable laughter which holds neither joy nor warmth. Black blood pulses through starved flesh. Bye bye Little One._

Maka sat up, balling her hands into fists. It had made her sick to see him like that again, a foul concoction of anger and sadness and pure, undeniable fear. Which was the worst part. Nothing scared her as much as Crona, no memory froze her insides like the one of that first night. Santa Maria Novella. Ragnarok cutting open Soul's chest as she just stood there, cowering against doors that only opened inward. His pale blue eyes wide and devoid of comprehension, let alone remorse. His lips moving, muttering to someone inside his head. Completely engulfed inside the Kishin Egg he'd become, a snake curling around it. He hadn't wanted to, but that hadn't stopped him.

In her mind, that wasn't Crona. She didn't meet Crona until she was inside his little pink soul, until she'd erased the line he'd drawn between himself and the world. As he was now, it was easy to forget that the child on the beach and the monster in her nightmares were one and the same. After today though… she couldn't allow herself to forget anymore. But that wasn't why she was anxious. It wasn't so much that Crona was dangerous; she'd always understood that better than most. And it wasn't as though she was feeling any sort of sudden pressure to watch him; at this point it was almost second nature to keep an eye on the meister and make sure he wasn't getting too stressed.

Maka frowned, trying to narrow her thoughts. Pinpoint the exact reason she was so terribly upset. She was afraid of what Crona could become, but she'd always known that. He wasn't completely free from his upbringing, but she'd known that too. So what was the agitation?

" _I don't want to leave. I don't want it to take me away!"_

She started, something snapping in her brain. Now that Medusa was truly dead, did there exist another force that could overwhelm Crona like she had? Take over his mind and twist his insides into something unrecognizable? Could Maka loose him? Was that even a possibility?

Suddenly she had to be near him. He hadn't allowed either Soul or herself to keep watch while he slept; he hadn't wanted to bother them. And they'd yielded. How could they insist he make his wishes known, then ignore them? But she wasn't going to watch him sleep. She just needed to check on him. Just for a moment. Just to make sure he was still there.

Maka slid out of bed, padding softly across the wood floor. Out in the kitchen, there was a light on. She blinked, bemused to find Soul at the table, reading a textbook. He looked completely exhausted, yet his eyes were stuck open, skimming the words, forcing his brain to focus on something besides whatever trouble kept him awake. He looked over at her, smirking at her striped pajama pants and button up shirt. His mouth opened to comment, but then he shut it again, looking away and giving his head a little unsurprised shake. He dismissed her to Crona's room with the flick of his wrist, returning his attention to the text. She smiled back at him, nodding and slinking over to the door. The spare room was smaller, away from the other bedrooms and bathroom, more closet like than anything. But it fit a bed comfortably and Crona had liked the proportions.

He was in there now, a balled mound with a mop of pink hair poking out from the blankets. Unlike the other two, he seemed to be fast asleep. Understandable, whatever had triggered the Madness had taken a lot out of him; he'd been dead on his feet before they'd gotten to Professor Stein's. Maka closed the door softly, moving to his side. Beneath his eyelids something frantic was going on, causing his whole face to twitch periodically even though the sleep-paralysis kept his body mostly still. Was it a nightmare? She pursed her lips, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching. He didn't look too happy, but most people don't while asleep. Content, maybe, but not happy. Maybe he was sweating? That would indicate a bad dream rather than a good one, right? Sliding a little closer to his shoulders, Maka reached for his face, brushing her fingertips across his brow. Damp. But sometimes people just get too hot while sleeping.

There was always her soul perception… Maka chewed on her tongue, debating it in her head. With most people the technique wasn't particularly invasive, but Crona wasn't most people. She'd been inside his soul. She'd resonated with him on the most intimate level. Their bond was only matched by the one she had with Soul, and when they resonated they could read each other's thoughts. If she looked at him now, while he was sleeping, unable to say no, would that constitute a violation? Was it even an issue? Her intentions were perfectly pure. Still…

Her fingers were still hovering around his face and, without her consciously telling them too, they skimmed across his cheek. Down his neck where they pressed into his pulse. Slow. Regular. A smile spread across her face, her eyes going soft as she looked at him. Something inside her felt warm. Something else ached. She could explain neither sensation.

"Maka?" She jumped a little, unprepared. The meister's eyes cracked, revealing dark, blue-grey irises and large, black pupils. He certainly looked calm, his tone a little slurred. "What're you… doing?"

"I just came to check on you," she said quickly, pulling her hand back into her lap. A blush burned her cheeks and she had to look away. It was the truth, she had just wanted to check on him. But something about the situation made her feel guilty, as if she'd had some, unidentified ulterior motive. Crona lifted his head a little, blinking.

"Are you worried?"

"Yes," she admitted, chancing a glance at him before looking away again. "I got it in my head that you were having bad dreams and couldn't sleep. I know. It's ridiculous."

"No, I… I'm glad you're here. You make me feel safe."

"Still, I shouldn't have just walked in like that… You said you didn't want us to stay with you tonight."

"I didn't want Soul to sleep on the floor."

Maka laughed a little, covering her mouth with a hand to stifle the sound. He sort of gave her a bemused smile, not really understanding what was so funny. But her laughter was nice, like a light through the darkness. The moon grinned at them from the window, watching and yet not seeing, a little like he felt now. Cautiously, Crona extracted one hand from the blankets. Her other hand was pressed into the bed, supporting her weight. He could see the creases around her wrist; still, he wanted to be sure. Tentatively he reached for her, brushing her skin like a puff of air. Maka looked down at him, frowning in surprise.

"Crona?"

"I'm sorry. I just… I… I wanted to make sure you were real."

Her frown deepened.

"You _were_ having bad dreams, weren't you."

"Not dreams… I was remembering." His eyebrows furrowed in a frown of his own, his fingers resting on the back of Maka's hand. After a moment he seemed to reach some sort of conclusion, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He didn't look at her.

"Maka… do you know what kind of person I am?"

"What kind of… What do you mean?"

"There's so much about myself that I don't understand. So much that I can't remember. About before. There is a me, the way I am now, but I wasn't always like this. I know things- _feel_ things, that I didn't know could even exist. And… this me is better. But…"

He struggled for words, his fingers wrapping around hers. The haze of fatigue made her less concerned about consequences and Maka found herself pressing her other palm to his cheek. Slowly, she turned his startled face towards hers.

"Crona, I'm not going to pretend I know everything that you went through," she said softly, their eyes locking. "But I do know you. You're one of my dearest friends. You're special. You're a good person."

"If you say so… Maybe this me is; but Maka, there's another. Inside. Like gears that don't line up. And sometimes I think that's the real me. It takes over whenever it wants and the black blood works better for it and there's nothing I can do. I don't understand how that can happen. How can we be having a picnic during the day and suddenly it becomes night? How can I want to ask Liz and Patty if their mom is nice and then attack them? How can something so little break me inside just by being there? How can Lady Medusa still be in my head when she's gone forever?"

"It's okay," Maka soothed, her thumb tracing his cheekbone back and forth in an attempt to slow his rapidly accelerating breath. "It's okay not to know. It's okay not to understand."

"But it's not." He tugged away from her, wrapping his arms around his own torso and pulling his knees up to his chest. "If I don't know then I can't control it. It will always be there, waiting, making me dangerous when I don't want to be. Making me forget what's real. I _need_ to understand it. I need to understand Ragnarok and the black blood and whatever Lady Medusa did that makes slipping into Madness so easy. I need to know why I'm like this."

His dark gaze flicked to her, then back down to the blankets, a blush rising in his cheeks. Maka looked back at him, perplexed and a little sad. She understood the black blood better than a lot of people, knew what it was like to be completely out of control while some other version of yourself parades around in your skin. But black blood was _her choice_. Soul was always there with her, this pike of stability in the swirling Madness, holding her together, pulling her back to the surface. Ragnarok flung himself fully into the insanity, dragging Crona with him. He fed on it, growing stronger with each step Crona took towards becoming Kishin. Yes, Crona was the one who actually preformed the actions, but it was… complex. Maka didn't know how to answer his questions, or if they had answers at all, but she did know their best resource.

"Alright," she sighed, nodding encouragingly. "If you say you need to know then that's it. We'll find out. Whatever it takes. We have to go get the results for your blood test tomorrow any way; we'll talk to Professor Stein about it then. I'm sure he has some insight, or at least knows where to look."

"You… You'll go with me?"

"Of course silly. Unless you don't want me to, I'll go anywhere with you."

The blush spread, causing his face to go from a light pink to a burning red that was evident even in the moonlight. Maka chuckled a little, reaching out and giving one of his knees a light pat. Even after all this time, he was still shocked by her devotion, which she couldn't really blame him for. The lengths she'd go to for him… sometimes she even surprised herself. Yet no matter how misguided, rule-shattering, or otherwise terrible her decision seemed, if it was for Crona, then it always felt right. Vaguely she wondered why that was.

"Goodnight Crona. I'm glad we talked." She got up to go but felt something catch her fingers. Her blond hair slid over one shoulder as she looked back, her eyes meeting his as he held her hand.

"Maka," he asked, swallowing hard. "Will you stay with me? Just for a little longer? Just until I fall asleep again?"

"Yes." A warm smile spread across her face and she sat back down on the edge of his bed. "Yes, I'll stay with you."

"Can…" He hesitated, laying back into his pillow with his knees still tucked to his chest, trying to find words to express the longing in his soul. "Can you do that thing again? W-with my hair? Is that alright?"

"You mean this?" There was a playful note to Maka's voice as she leaned over and ran her fingers through his soft, pink locks. She brushed his scalp, tracing it to the base of his skull then running down his neck. Crona shivered.

"Y-yes. That." He closed his eyes, relaxing a little as a tiny smile came onto his face. "It feels nice."

"I think so too."

"Maka?"

"Yes Crona?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier? That I'm special?"

"Of course I did; I don't say things I don't mean."

"I see…" Already he was drifting off, his breath slowing into a regular rhythm as his legs slid away from his body into a more neutral angle. "You're special to me, too…"


	4. Chapter 4

_Why are you shaking?_

Because I'm afraid.

 _What do you fear?_

I'm afraid of everything.

 _Be specific Crona_.

I-I can't do this right now.

 _Why not?_

It hurts…

"What were you expecting? You failed, Crona. You are a bad child. This is your punishment."

He was suspended in a tangle of black vectors, each coiled around some part of his body, each constricting. Tighter and tighter, squeezing him. If this had been anyone else, the Black Blood would've hardened his flesh. Making him impenetrable, immune to pain and injury. Indestructible. But this wasn't anyone else. Lady Medusa commanded the Black Blood; it was hers. Just like him.

The arrow around his neck choked him, preventing everything except for the tiniest of whimpers from exiting his throat. Everything ached, a dull, homogenous, unendurable pain that radiated through his entire body. No other sensations registered. Nothing but the pain, screaming in his head. Throbbing. It hurt so much… he didn't understand why it hurt so much. He wanted it to stop, yet he knew that was impossible. Struggling wasn't allowed. Trying to get away wasn't allowed. Lady Medusa commanded the Black Blood- commanded him. He was hers. He was created for her use. A tear broke from his eyelashes, running along his temple and into his hair as another moan burned in his chest.

"Please," he begged. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise."

"In order to become a Kishin, you will need to consume a great many human souls. How do you expect to do that when you hesitate to kill?"

"I didn't hesitate. I killed them all."

"Why did you hold back while you were fighting the girl?"

"I wasn't holding back. I almost killed her too. I would've, if the man with a screw in his head hadn't shown up."

"Don't lie to me Crona."

He cried out, more tears following wet trails along his scalp. The vectors tightened, holding at a constant, unimaginable pressure. It was too much.

"I didn't want to kill her! She's a girl! I wanted to play with her hair!"

"How sweet." Her tone took on a honeyed edge, the vectors loosening just a little. Still painful, but he could deal with this level of pain. He panted, tasting the air on his tongue, feeling it cool his lungs as he tried to take advantage of the moment. "I suppose this was inevitable; most children begin to develop these thoughts around your age."

"It's… normal?"

"Yes Crona, it's normal. You, however, are not. You are deformed. Disgusting. No one will tolerate you; the only place you will ever belong is with me. The only thing you are capable of is killing. Your only use is to become a Kishin. You must understand that by now."

"But I-" He gasped as the arrows began to constrict around him again, the pain quickly becoming mind-shatteringly intolerable.

"Purge yourself of these thoughts, Crona. Dedicate yourself to becoming the ultimate evil."

"Yes Lady Medusa!"

Suddenly the vectors retreated, uncurling from his body and returning to her. Many of them left deep cuts, black blood welling to the surface and closing the stinging wounds quickly. He fell, landing hard on his tailbone and cracking his skull on the stone floor. It hurt. It hurt so much. Tentatively, he pushed himself up, kneeling before her, trembling. Her eyes were hard and completely without compassion or pity. She looked at him like something filthy, some piece of rotting food she hadn't thrown out yet. It filled him with a terror that was so much worse than the pain.

"Now leave. Go to the room and stay there until I come for you."

"N-no… Please… Please don't send me there. It's dark. Please don't leave us alone in the dark. I said I was sorry. I'll do everything you say. Just don't leave us alone in the dark."

"Get out of my sight; I can't stand to look at you any longer."

His insides turned to stone and his mind went absolutely blank. Wordlessly, he stood, gripping one arm and staggering away. He knew the way… knew the room. He was disgusting, a bad child, and this was his punishment.

"And Crona." He paused, face expressionless, soul open. Her words filled him, displacing anything and everything, until there was only her will. Only her orders. She commanded him, after all. There was nothing else. "The next time you see that girl, kill her."

"Yes Lady Medusa. I understand."

Maka… So now I know the name of the person I'm supposed to kill…

* * *

Crona awoke to soft light and warmth. Both were reassuring, elements of reality that simply hadn't existed when he was with Lady Medusa. Their presence meant her absence, despite what his mind kept trying to tell him. These nightmares were nothing more than memories; the sunlight was proof of that. They only had the power he gave them… that's what he had been told. And yet the warmth couldn't get inside him. It couldn't make it past the pain and fear. He wasn't someone who was meant for warmth, no matter how nice it felt. This was the dream.

His eyes cracked open, blinking in bemusement at what they saw. Maka's face was next to his, sharing the other end of his pillow. She'd curled up on top of the blankets, one arm under her head and the other draped over his shoulders. Her hair was fanned out, like a halo spun from fine, wheat threads, glowing in the early light. Her mouth was open, breath deep and regular, leaving a little dark spot of drool on the pillow case fabric. She was perfect. Now he _knew_ he was dreaming.

Squirming softly, he extracted a hand from beneath the sheets and reached over to her. Tracing the butter soft contours of her face. It felt so real. Growing bold, he moved to her hair, brushing a few wild strands from her cheek and running his fingers through the rest. Like silk. She let out a low murmur, responding to his touch by readjusting, closing her mouth and swallowing. He remembered last night, their talk, the things she'd said, the things he hadn't, all of it. She'd said he was a good person, but how could she know? Maka had always put her faith in him and he'd so rarely deserved it. Besides, she didn't know everything. She blamed Lady Medusa for all of it, painting him the innocent victim in her mind, but that wasn't right. Not entirely.

"Maka," he whispered, snuggling just a little closer, leaning in until their bangs brushed. With anyone else the situation would've filled him with dread, the proximity to another warm body overwhelming his reason and sending him into a spiral of terror. Even with Maka there was a dissonance, something inside him that fought the rightness of it all. Something that couldn't accept how wonderfully comfortable he felt just being close to her.

He loved this. He didn't want to loose this. Not ever.

A sadness filled him at that realization. After all, to have is to loose, and Crona knew in his heart that something this perfect was far too fragile to last. It would break. He would break it. There was a burning, bubbling sensation beneath his left shoulder blade and Ragnarok poked out, resting his hands on Crona's arm and staring at the sleeping girl.

"Well what do we have here," he said without concern for the volume of his voice. "This is like a wet dream for you, right Crona? Quick, grab her boobs! She can't say no while she's passed out!"

"Ragnarok," Crona squeaked in horror, pulling back his hand from her hair and flushing deeply. Maka let out another little moan, as if upset by his withdrawal, nuzzling in to him. Their noses touched. He could taste her breath, morning sour. Fire burned in his chest, working its way up his neck into his face. The Demon Sword made a move to execute his plan, but Crona rolled away, squishing him against the mattress and muffling his protests.

"Keep it down," Crona scolded, pushing himself up against the wall and then oozing around the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Hands shaking, he took the edge of the blanket that had covered him and folded it over onto Maka's sleeping form. "You'll wake her."

"And I care why? I don't! I don't give a shit! You just want to stay on her good side so she'll keep feeding you."

"She feeds you too. Maka takes care of us."

"Psht, we were doing fine! You weren't dead and I had a steady diet of tasty human souls; those were the days! Then _she_ hacked into your soul and now look at us. Dumb cow…"

"Don't say things like that…"

"Why the hell not?"

"Be quiet Ragnarok."

"Oh _come on!_ It doesn't matter! It's not like you even stand a chance with her! For one, you're the most disturbed little shit to ever walk the planet. And then there's that thing between your legs-"

"Ragnarok!"

"And then there's these." Crona tried to stop him, grasping at his black wrists and batting away his white hands, but the weapon was persistent. He tore open the buttons on Crona's robe, peeling the fabric back to expose the glowingly pale flesh of his chest, shoulders, and upper arms. Places where thick, circular scars made dotted lines across his flesh. The pink haired meister froze, paling in shame and fear.

"Those are-"

"I _know_ what they are, I let you do it, remember? I could've just hardened the blood, no scars no fuss, but you _wanted_ to bleed. You'd just sit there, clawing at yourself until I let the blood out. Not just once, and not just when we were with Medusa. What kind of a psycho does that? You're all kinds of messed up Crona and this little crush just proves it. You think she's kinky enough to be into you? You think she'll even keep you around when she finds out about this bull shit!"

"Maka said she wouldn't abandon me," he said in a soft voice, bowing his head and pulling the black fabric back around his form. "And I believe her… I do…I trust Maka."

"You are completely hopeless, you know that? It's pathetic."

"Yes…I know…"

Crona did up the buttons on his robe, pulled on his shoes, and slid out of the room.

"Sup," Soul greeted, looking up at him from the kitchen table with exhausted eyes. "I haven't started breakfast yet, but if you want-"

"I'm going out," Crona cut him off without looking, shuffling quickly to the door.

"What! No you're not! That ass hole said there was gonna be breakfast!" Ragnarok grabbed the sides of Crona's head and attempted to drag him back into the kitchen, but the meister would not be deterred. He continued forward, opening their front door without looking back at Soul. "Damn it!"

"I-I-I'll see you in class!"

* * *

Maka thought she was dreaming at first, a funny little dream of lying with Crona. Her body felt cold, but inside there was a happiness that made it worth it. The sensation of his fingers running through her hair, his breath mixing with hers, their noses touching. It was pleasant in a way she couldn't describe, as if some unknown need that had been gnawing at her insides was finally being sated. She liked being close to him, liked feeling him, the way he said her name. And for the little space between sleep and true wakefulness, that was enough. Then Ragnarok's voice shattered her illusion. Her eyes fluttered open just in time to catch sight of his long, pale feet sliding off the end of the bed.

That settled it; she was awake. In Crona's room. Sleeping on his bed. While he was also in the bed… A hot blush shot up her neck and into her face, making her heart pound. What followed was a flood of embarrassment, fear, and a sequence of disjointed escape plans. But before she had a chance to consider executing any of them Crona and Ragnarok started talking and her mind went quiet. A stunned silence buzzed between her ears, a new sensation that kept her prey still.

She didn't know what to do. Ragnarok was spilling secret after secret and she had no idea how to process them. Crona didn't want her to know any of it, that much was obvious, but she couldn't un-hear it. If she made it known that she was awake then the secrets would surely stop. Then she could say she tried. The swordsman might legitimately die of humiliation and the damage would still be done, but she would've tried. Or she could pretend it never happened at all, just lie here and wait for him to leave. Address the awkwardness of sharing a bed later; that, at least, had been innocent. Inaction permeated her body, paralyzing her, locking her into a position she'd never intended.

Mercifully, the exchange didn't last too long before Crona needed to be away. She heard the scraping of his shoes across the floor, his brief exchange with Soul, and then the front door close behind him. Slowly, Maka sat up, blinking, her lips pursed and pulse racing. Shit. She hadn't meant for that to happen… Shame burned in her gut, further enflamed by the curiosity and satisfaction that smoldered along side it. Sighing heavily, she pushed herself off the bed and slunk over to the door.

"Morning…" Soul greeted, sensing her presence even though his bewildered eyes were still fixed on the door. Like herself, he seemed unable to process what had just happened. Maka tried to answer, but words escaped her and a low groan issued from her throat. His crimson gaze moved and he grinned a little, teasing. "Sleep well."

"Cut it out, Soul." Scolding, at least, came easily. She sat down heavily at the table, rubbing her face. "I'm not in the mood."

"Okay, fine. Jeez." He slumped his head into an open palm, morose. Maka looked at him through her fingers, sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry…"

"I know." He gave her a cocky grin. "Just what the hell happened last night?"

"It's not what happened last night," she said slowly. "It's what happened this morning."

"What, shitty pillow talk?" The book spine smashed his face into the table top, leaving a deep, rectangular indent in his skull.

"That's not even a little bit funny."

"Alright, fine, it's not funny." Soul grumbled, massaging his scalp and giving her a dirty look. "So if you're not upset about spending the night with him, then what's got you both so worked up."

"I didn't _mean_ to spend the night with him. I just… I guess I fell asleep."

"Yeah, when you didn't come out I figured something like that had happened."

"And when I woke up Crona and Ragnarok were fighting and…" she trailed off, staring over towards the window and chewing her tongue. "And I heard some stuff I don't think I was meant to hear."

"I get it," sighed Soul, leaning back and folding his arms. He gave Maka a piercing look, face unreadable. "And one of them was that he's into you, right?"

"I wish that was all I heard, but-" Her head snapped up and she gave him a wide, stunned look. "Wait. You knew?"

"Well, I'd say it was obvious to any idiot, but then you'd probably hit me again."

"And you never said anything?"

"Come on, a cool guy like me? It's not my business. Besides, I wasn't sure Crona himself knew. Even now, I don't know… We're his first experience with normal feelings; do you think he even understands the difference between friendship and romance?"

"Sometimes I don't think _I_ understand it." She smiled a little, looking deflated. "I mean, and don't take this the wrong way, but our relationship is about as close as I've ever felt to anyone and I've never had any desire to… date you? I guess? I don't know-"

"Maka, I know you get all up in your head and delusional and indecisive, so I'm just gonna tell you this: your feelings for me are probably pretty different from your feelings for Crona. And my feelings for you are _way_ different than his. Sure, we'd both die for you at the drop of a hat, but it's not the same."

"I like problems that I can just punch in the face…"

"Part of your charm."

"Soul, I'm being serious! What am I supposed to do here? I don't know how to deal with this kind of situation…"

"That's his line." Soul was teasing again, grinning at her. "But if you're looking for advice, go after him. You need to tell him what you over heard or you're both gonna end up in another big hole, if you catch my drift. Deal with the feelings as they come."

"You're right…" Maka looked down, folding her hands in her lap as if in solemn prayer. "You're absolutely right… Thanks Soul!"

And she was up, moving purposefully towards the front door, face hardened in determination.

"Hey wait a second," Soul called after her, swinging an arm over the back of his chair and turning to face her. "Don't you wanna, I don't know, get dressed first?"

"Huh?" She paused, looked down at herself, and nodded sharply. With a deep sense of intensity, she hurried back into her room, crashed around for about thirty seconds, then emerged again. Her hair was unbrushed, one knee sock was around her ankle, and she was still tying her tie, but Maka was off.

"Right! Thanks Soul!"

"Well this should be good," he muttered, smiling at her back, shaking his head and getting up to close the door behind her. But as soon as the latch caught he faltered, brow knitting in thought. "At least I hope it will."

* * *

Crona calmed down a little bit once he was out on the street, slowing his pace from a frantic shuffle to more of a walk. It was early, still cold and a little grey, but that just meant there weren't any people out roaming the cobblestone yet. That was good. He needed the solitude mixed with the open space. He needed it to still the fear. Move past the panic and figure out its source. Why had he run? Because he hadn't known how to deal with it?

No. That was an easy, incomplete answer. It didn't address the complexities of the situation, didn't even begin to describe the pounding in his chest. After all, waking up next to Maka hadn't scared him; he'd actually found it rather pleasant. He'd liked it. It was Ragnarok, not Maka, that had made him want to run. But that, too, was overly simplified. Ragnarok was just being Ragnarok. He liked to pick on Crona, it was the only form of control he had, and he knew how to exploit it. He knew all the places to poke and pull when he wanted to get under Crona's skin, when he wanted to punish him for something, or when he was just bored.

Perhaps it was Ragnarok being Ragnarok in a room where Maka was trying to sleep in his bed? Maybe it was Ragnarok telling Maka things he didn't want her to know? Things about him, about how disgusting and pathetic he was. Maka said she knew. She said he was a good person. A special person. But she was wrong. He wasn't special; he was deformed. Not good, just pitiful. What would happen when she figured that out? With Lady Medusa it had always been clear: become a Kishin or be abandoned. He hadn't wanted to, but he'd known what he _needed_ to do. Maka had put forth no such expectations. He didn't know how far her tolerance for him stretched. What would it take for her to give up on him like everyone else had? Like everyone else would… He had to be useful to her. He had to make up for all his deficiencies by being useful.

A series of little moaning sounds shattered the morning quiet, freezing Crona in place like sirens. His fingers dug into the flesh of his upper arm, eyes darting around, looking for the source. There. In a window up and to his left. Two people. They were… eating each other… Crona's eyes widened and he let out a little whimper of fear, but the pair didn't seem to notice or care. Their hands were roaming, holding and squeezing as their mouths worked, faces mashed together. Neither seemed particularly disturbed by the circumstance… They actually looked to be enjoying it. He frowned a little, still wide eyed and confused. One pulled away from the other, withdrawing a tongue into their own mouth before moving their lips to the soft skin of their partner's neck.

"I need to go," moaned the one, their eyes closed and tone unconvincing. "If your roommates find us- Ah!"

The others hands had moved below the window ledge and were doing something Crona couldn't see. Their lips were moving downward, sucking and nipping and extracting noises he didn't understand. Whatever they were doing, they seemed to be making each other happy. _Very_ happy. Crona felt something twinge below his stomach, between his legs, and flushed deeply, moving on. This… exchange… was private. Or at least it aught to be.

"Come on Crona, go back!" Ragnarok popped up from between his shoulder blades. "Keep watching! I'll bet you could learn a thing or two."

"No… Don't be so perverted."

"I'm just saying what you're thinking. Besides, you made me skip breakfast. The least you could do is let me have some fun."

"Not that kind of fun… I don't like watching. It makes me uncomfortable. I wish they'd close the window."

"Like you even know what you're looking at. But fine, whatever. That means we're going to go kill some people then, right?"

"No Ragnarok. We don't do that anymore."

"Can we kill _something_! I'm so _**bored**_!"

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing in Death City to kill. This is a safe place. If you want to hunt Kishin Eggs, then we could ask Lord Death for an assignment. Maybe he'll let us start eating Kishin souls like everyone else."

"We can't have fun, so we go kill the people who are, huh? I don't see how that could possibly be as good as eating human souls. Besides, you really think they're going to let you out after yesterday? You reminded them of just how much of a psycho you are; it'll be a miracle if they don't put you back in that dungeon."

"I'm fine with the dungeon," murmured Crona, eyes downcast. "So long as they don't send me away…"

 _Crona…_

It wasn't a voice so much as a sensation. Crona froze, his breath going shallow and his eyes turning ice blue. Something crawled around inside his skull, something old and not quite familiar. An imposter of Lady Medusa's will poking and prodding and exploring. Places he didn't remember existed, thoughts he no longer felt compelled to think surfacing.

 _The only way to overcome this fear is to grow stronger and become Kishin_

 _I don't understand what's wrong if she said it was okay_

 _I need power or else I'll always be afraid_

 _Yes Crona, that's right. But be specific. What do you fear?_

"Crona?"

He inhaled sharply, blinking away tears he hadn't noticed before and looking around. He wasn't out on the cobblestone street anymore, and Ragnarok had gone back inside him… how'd that happen? How'd he get here? Why was he standing in the shadowed alleyway between two apartment complexes? Why was he shaking? Someone came up behind him and he tensed, an all too familiar surge of terror flooding his black blood. But then their hand pressed against his left shoulder blade and dawn broke inside him.

"Maka," he answered, turning and looking down at her, perplexed. She blinked back, equally confused, her hand still lingering close to his body.

"What're you doing," she asked, glancing around the alley.

"Having a meltdown." The weapon didn't bother coming out; his voice came from inside Crona, centered somewhere around his gut. Crona flushed, eyes fixating on his shoes.

"It's nothing," he insisted, not sounding convincing at all. Maka licked her lips, looking a little uncomfortable herself. His eyes flicked to her, a frown making folds beneath his bangs. "What are you doing here, Maka? It's early. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I, uh," Maka laughed awkwardly. Then she sobered up and gave him a very intense look, holding out her hand. "Let's go get breakfast. My treat."

"Umm…" Crona hesitated for a moment, swallowing hard. Then he seemed to reach a decision and his face relaxed, his fingers stretching as if afraid to go too far from his body. They rested lightly on her palm and Maka smiled, twisting her hand and interlacing her fingers with his. "Okay…"


	5. Chapter 5

The pair sat together on a vacant patio, fingering menus and trying to ignore how painfully awkward it felt. Maka had felt so sure of herself when she'd bolted out of the apartment this morning, so confident that telling Crona what she'd over heard would be easy, that she hadn't come up with any sort of strategy. Now though, staring at him from across the table, the feat seemed nearly impossible. Every time she tried to broach the subject her throat dried out and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Heat flooded her body as her own thoughts shamed her back into silence and she found herself backing down before so much as taking a breath.

Crona, for his part, was jittery, wide eyes staring at the menu as if he wasn't sure which item was going to jump off the page and attack him first. Or maybe it was the menu itself that confused him; he had yet to open it and just kept staring at the back, reading and rereading. Deciding to tackle one problem at a time, Maka opted to put off her confession for a little longer. It was still going to happen… soon… ish…

"Do you need help deciding what to get," she asked softly, smiling at him. "You don't need to worry about the price; I've got it covered."

"Umm… I…" He screwed up his face, staring more intently at the laminated page. Then his shoulders dropped and he gave her a hopeless look. "I don't know what to do."

"Oh." A cold ball of worms dropped into her stomach. Why hadn't she considered that? This was probably Crona's first time going out to eat, so of course he didn't know what to do. She hadn't even explained it to him, just grabbed his hand and pulled him to the nearest café. And poor Crona. He was just too polite to question her.

"Well, here they make your food for you, just like in the cafeteria at school, but you get to choose. Do you see the dishes? There listed on the left?"

He looked down again and nodded.

"Those are your choices. Now, the ones there on the back are desserts. We can ask if they have any of those right now, if you want, but the breakfast foods are on the first page."

She reached across the table, taking hold of Crona's menu, flipping it, and opening it for him. With one finger, she pointed out the bolded heading. He flushed, hunching his shoulders and tucking his chin.

"I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry," she cut him off playfully. "This is my treat, remember?"

"But-"

"No "buts." I will accept a "thank you" though, if you want."

"Th-Thank you." He gave her a small, rare smile. "I don't think I'll ever understand why you're so nice to me Maka."

"Because it's easy! I really like you Crona, why wouldn't I be nice?" The words flung themselves from her mouth before she had a chance to restrain them, causing them both to go scarlet. Maka ducked behind her menu, internally berating herself both for her forwardness and for being embarrassed by it.

"Anyway," she continued, still flushed. "The waiter will be here soon; we'd best decide."

"Oh… okay… umm…" Crona deflated again, looking dejectedly at the page and mumbling: "I don't know if I can deal with this right now…"

"Should I order for you," Maka offered, unable to suppress the smile. Crona was always doing that to her; almost everything he did made her smile or laugh or otherwise feel happy. It was ridiculous.

"Would you? Would that be alright?"

"Of course, silly. You will have to tell me what sorts of things you like. I don't want to make you eat something you hate." He blinked at her, utterly perplexed by the sentiment. Maka rephrased. "Is there something we've had at home that you enjoyed more than the rest? Anything you remember?"

"Everything's better than what I'm used to…" Crona bit his lower lip, thinking. "Pasta?"

"That's not a breakfast food," Maka giggled, causing Crona to flush again. "How about this: we can share whatever I order and have pasta for dinner tonight, okay?"

He smiled again, giving an enthusiastic nod. Well, enthusiastic for Crona. Sensing their conclusion, the waiter drifted by, ignoring Crona and taking down Maka's order with practiced efficiency. This was not uncommon for the people in Death City; they generally liked Maka and were distrustful of Crona, resulting in a bit of a public-behavior stalemate. She minded a lot more than the pink haired meister, who vastly preferred to be ignored.

The two sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the awakening city around them and each other's company. It was nice, being alone with Crona... Really nice. Now that she'd climbed down out of her head, Maka found herself appreciating how comfortable it was. Usually, they were in a group at practice or in class, or else they were at home with Soul. Never on their own, never just the two of them. Why was that, she wondered.

"Hey Crona," she asked, letting her thoughts take form. Their talk the previous night and the things she'd overheard that morning made her brave, if not a little clumsy. "Why is it we don't spend more time alone together?"

"What?" He flushed, tearing his attention away from a bird on the neighboring windowsill to give her a surprised, confused look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Maka licked her lips, trying to decide that for herself. "I like our friends, and of course I enjoy being around Soul, but I also like being with you. I like this, just sitting together."

"I-I like it too."

"Then we'll do it more often."

Crona's lips parted and he looked like he was going to add something, but their waiter chose that moment to deliver the food. Wordlessly, he set a steaming pile of pancakes between the two, laid out two sets of silverware, and drifted away. Maka pulled out the fork and started eating, face alight with excitement. Steeling his features as if in preparation for something traumatic, Crona attempted to do the same. But the fork felt awkward in his hand and, in a misguided attempt to cut out a wedge, he toppled the pancake pile. Flushing in humiliation, he gave the plate an absolutely defeated look. His dejection made Maka feel… bold? Desperate? Devil may care? She speared a single pancake right in the center, picked it up like some kind of flying saucer, and, maintaining perfect eye contact with Crona, took a big bite out of the rim. The rest hung limply off her fork, a monument to poor table manners.

"Maka!"

It was a total admonishment. She giggled, mouth still full, and held the half eaten cake out towards Crona suggestively. He frowned at it, eyes flicking to her, uncertain. Still giggling, she tried to give him an encouraging nod or some sort of signal that it was okay. They could share this particular sin. For a moment it looked like he was going to preserve his pride and ignore her. But then he moved, leaning forward tentatively, reaching for the fork. His long fingers curled around the stem and he inclined it forward, taking a tiny nibble out of the pancake edge. Then he smiled at Maka and let out a little giggle of his own. Her chest felt like it might just explode with warmth.

"Food time!"

In a spray of black blood, Ragnarok burst from between Crona's shoulder blades, causing the meister to wince and recoil. Not that the weapon cared. He loomed over the mop of pink hair, grabbed the plate in his hammy fists, and dumped the whole thing in his mouth. To top it off, he belched so loudly, a group of people who happened to be passing by heard. All five of them gave the pair deeply judgmental looks. Maka slumped back in her chair, unsure whether she was more embarrassed or infuriated. Leave it to Ragnarok.

"That was our breakfast," she scolded, jaw working as metaphorical steam poured from her ears.

"You weren't eating it," he shot back, wiping his invisible mouth with one twiggy arm. "You were using it as foreplay. I just spared everyone here god knows how many more hours of that bull shit."

"If you wanted something," Maka said, struggling to keep her voice even. "All you had to do was ask."

"Why ask when I can take?"

"Ragnarok," Crona mumbled, looking around. "You're making people uncomfortable."

" _You're_ making them uncomfortable, moron." He wasn't wrong. Maka's eyes narrowed as she scanned the faces around them. None of them were happy. None held any compassion or even curiosity. They were hard, angry, filled with memories of a time when insanity had crawled through their streets and a child had played unwilling host to Crona's witch mother for weeks. They remembered him flying through the sky, leading an army of more witches to their door. They remembered his imprisonment in the DWMA dungeons, the quintessential betrayer of trust and second chances. Generally they could ignore it when he looked like a normal boy, but now, weapon poking out of his flesh like some sort of monstrous, liquid tumor, it was all they saw. One of them mouthed 'black blooded freak' and elicited nods from the others. Crona squirmed, sensing their disgust. It had been better earlier, when everyone else was still asleep.

"Keep the change," Maka called to the waiter, setting down her fork and pancake, pulling out a bill and slamming it on the table. She then stood, grabbed Crona's hand, and tugged him into step behind her. "We'd better get going; classes are going to start soon."

"R-right."

* * *

When they arrived in the lecture hall Soul was waiting for them. Or that was their assumption, at least. He was seated in their row near the top, face buried into folded arms. His white hair stood out in all directions and his snores reverberated down the length of the table. Traveling through the wood grain and vibrating under Maka's fingertips. In their haste, both she and Crona had forgotten the part where more than a warm body was needed for class; her book bag was in the seat to his right and, beside that, a messy pile of Crona's things had been dumped onto the desktop. She sighed, smiling down at his sleeping form. Soul could be stubborn and abrasive, but he was always taking care of her.

"Should we…" Crona whispered, blinking down at the weapon and frowning a little. Dissonance rattled inside him, the impulse to wake Soul before everyone else discovered him in this vulnerable state warring with the desire to just let the man sleep. Maka approached him, placing a gloved hand on his back. He tensed, crimson eyes lifting just enough to peer disapprovingly through white bangs.

"That time already, huh," he grumbled, sitting up and yawning so wide, his sharp teeth caught the light.

"Afraid so," Maka commiserated, giving him a solemn nod, picking up the bag, and sliding into her chair. "Thanks for this."

"Don't mention it. If you two hadn't left your shit at the apartment, I probably wouldn't have bothered showing up today; I'm so freakin' tired."

"If you're tired, then… then you should go sleep. I can… take really good notes. You could use them later if you… if you wanted," offered Crona, grabbing one arm and shifting awkwardly. Soul grinned at him, but there was a chill in his eyes Crona didn't like. The crimson gaze flicked to Maka for a moment, then back to him. Maka busied herself with taking out a notebook, pretending not to notice.

"Nah, I'm okay. Cool guys like me don't cut class."

"Unless it's for a stupid fight," Maka muttered critically.

"But if you have a minute, can you fill this up for me?" Soul dug out a water bottle and held it out to Crona. "I forgot this morning."

"I… Okay." Crona accepted the bottle, giving Maka a worried look over one shoulder as he shuffled back down the stairs and out of the lecture hall.

"You didn't tell him." Soul refocused his attention onto his meister, giving her a withering look. She flushed in shame, taking extra care in writing the days date in her notes.

"I will. I just… it wasn't a good time."

"It's never going to be a good time! You didn't plan it, but you eavesdropped on him and intentional or not, that's not cool. The longer you wait, the worse it'll be."

"I know that," she snapped, emerald eyes aflame. Soul leaned back in his chair, silently judging. "It just wasn't a good time."

"So what the hell _have_ you been doing all morning?"

"Having breakfast." He narrowed his eyes. "We shared a pile of pancakes, alright? You happy?"

"Maka…"

"Get off my back, Soul! I'm going to tell him!"

"Today."

"Yes, fine, today."

* * *

Crona's gut bubbled with familiar fear as he worked his way along the wall towards the drinking fountain. It hadn't been very long since he'd known Soul as a person, and even less time since they were considered friends. Even so, there were some things Crona had learned about the weapon. Like the fact that he was incredibly perceptive, yet quiet, hesitant to share these insights verbally. But there were cues; hints Crona had come to understand had greater meaning. The cold in his eyes, the way he'd sent him away to talk to Maka alone, the fatigue. Soul was worried and Crona was its source.

Of course Crona's first instinct was that he'd done something wrong. Was he too short that morning? Was he not supposed to eat breakfast with Maka? Was he not supposed to be alone with her anymore? That seemed reasonable, after his slip with the Little One… A fist tightened around his heart, squeezing it painfully and impeding its ability to beat regularly. Was he not supposed the share a bed with her? He'd felt so warm when he woke up, so safe, that he'd assumed it was okay. Maka hadn't mentioned it, and technically, she'd been the one in his bed. These were excuses; he'd clearly done something wrong. At least one thing. Probably everything…

People were beginning to crowd the halls, filling them like a river of chatter and movement. A flashflood of human flesh. Crona panted, the trembling starting in his shoulders. So many people… and none of them were familiar. Strangers. Enemies. Maka was back in the lecture hall with Soul and they were surely talking about how to tell Crona they didn't want him around anymore. They were going to throw him out, into this current of bodies, abandoning him to the chaos. Crona's hands were sweating, his fingers fumbling with the lid of Soul's water bottle as if they were made of rubber. Maybe he should just give up… drop the bottle and go out to the desert. Out into the sand where he couldn't hurt anyone or be hurt…

"Crona, good, you're here. I was hoping to catch you before class."

The pink haired meister started, his wide, ice blue eyes snapping upwards. They found a pair of hard, golden orbs perfectly framed by straight, black hair. White stripes on the left side. A suit with a skull shaped pin.

"K-Kid," he said breathlessly, relief making a tentative assertion inside him. The reaper gave him an indecipherable look, taking the water bottle from his shaking hands. He unscrewed the lid and handed it back. Crona flushed, turning towards the fountain and filling it up as best he could. Water splashed down the sides, the cold tingling across his nerves and giving his mind a point of focus.

"Early morning?"

"Y-y-yes. We- we were here early. S-Soul asked me t-to fill his water."

"I see." Kid pouted his lips thoughtfully, nodding at his rambling. His stance was casual, hands in his pockets, Liz and Patty out of sight. It was not his intention to startle the meister, challenging as that might be. "Crona, I wanted to ask if you were feeling alright."

"Me? I'm f-fine. I just… there are so many people…"

Kid took the water bottle again and screwed the lid back into place. Then he touched Crona's elbow lightly, guiding him along the wall to a less crowded hallway. The sword meister visibly relaxed in the relative quiet, giving Kid a quizzical look.

"Is this better?"

"Yes… Thank you…"

"Good. Well then, as I was saying, I wanted to ask how you were doing. Honestly I'm a little surprised to see you; I was expecting you to take some time off."

"Time off," Crona repeated uncertainly, pulling his right arm across his chest. "Should I not have come today? Are you angry with me? Are Liz and Patty?"

"Patty blames you for the rabbit running off, but she'll come around." Crona hugged himself tighter, staring down at the floor. "As for Liz and I, no. We're not angry with you; we're worried."

"Why would you be worried about me? I cut you open. Patty's right to blame me, I ruined everything."

"Patty was doomed to be disappointed," Kid folded his arms and smiled warmly. "That rabbit was never going to stay with us. One ear was almost a millimeter longer than the other; I couldn't stand it. Now, I won't stand here and patronize you by saying that everything's fine. You had a slip and that can't happen again. I will, however, remind you that you have friends now Crona. People with whom you belong. If you need anything, you can ask us. Are we clear?"

Crona sort of jiggled his head, blinking at the reaper as he tried to process the complex mixture of emotion swirling in his chest. It wasn't clear, not even a little. It didn't make any sense. And yet… He lifted his chin, nodding with greater conviction. Kid looked satisfied, inclining his head in a silent gesture of support and returning the water bottle to Crona's shaking grasp.

"Good. Now let's go return that to Soul. Class will be starting soon."

* * *

"Crona! It's so good to see you!" Marie's squeals announced her presence long before any visual cues. Within a second of entering Stein's house, Crona found himself enveloped in her powerful embrace. There were very few people who could do this without sending the pink haired meister into a downward spiral of terror, but Miss Marie was one of them. Tentatively, he pressed his fingertips into her back, savoring the security and warmth of her presence.

"We were here yesterday," said Maka, rolling her eyes at the dramatics.

"Are you eating enough? Has he been eating enough?" Marie pulled Crona away from her body and gave him an appraising look, seeking her own answers from the wiry contours of his frame.

"Maka took me out for breakfast this morning," Crona offered, smiling a little.

"Did she really? Mr. Franken Stein over there has been offering to take me out for _ages_! But he never does!"

"Marie, that was two days ago, and you said you already had dinner planned."

"Can you imagine? This man, who will soon be my husband, refusing to take me to a romantic meal?"

"I… I'm sure Professor Stein doesn't mean to… I think he wants to make you happy Miss Marie…" He stumbled over his words, pressing his pointer fingers together and shifting his weight. Tears burned in Marie's eyes and suddenly he was being clutched to her chest again.

"Oh Crona! You're such a sweet boy! Now come! I have muffins in the oven!"

"Marie, I don't think Crona came all the way here for muffins." She shot him a look that could disembowel, which made Stein chuckle. "But we can certainly have some while we go over his blood test. That is assuming everyone's alright with eating in the lab."

There was a general murmur of approval and Stein led the way back. He pulled a curtain in front of something that looked suspiciously like a partially dismembered flamingo, settled into his wheeled chair, and gave the others an expectant look. Taking the initiative, Maka pressed forward, settling into a wooden chair by the desk. Crona trailed behind, looking curiously at the curtain as he sat down next to her.

"Now Crona, is it alright for Maka to be here," asked Stein, focusing on the swordsman. He started at being addressed, turning sharply to meet the Professor's olive gaze. Then he gave a nod, his grip on his arm slackening.

"I asked her to come," he said, tucking his chin and blushing. Maka smiled, her own face warming. Stein remained completely expressionless.

"Very well. Now Crona, before we get into the results, I want you to tell me what you remember from the incident yesterday. Did you experience anything unusual before or during?"

Maka had to bite her tongue, her hands making fists in her skirt. She understood the question logically, but that didn't change her instinctual response to defend Crona from anything that might upset him. The pink haired meister raked his teeth over his lower lip, concentrating on a piece of tile at his feet.

"I remember recognizing the Little One," he started slowly. "Then it got cold and I heard her in my head… I saw her hold it out to me and I knew what I had to do. I remember sending the Black Blood to attack Patty, and I remember Kid getting in the way, but it wasn't… I didn't know who they were while it was happening. Then Maka was there and… and… I know I told you about the Little One, but I don't know what I said…"

"This cold," Stein continued, seeming to ignore the rest of the story. Maka felt another flame of indignation lick her throat. "Have you felt it before? Was it familiar?"

"It was Lady Medusa," Crona said, giving him an incredulous look. " _Inside_ my head."

"I see…"

"What does this have to do with Crona's blood work," Maka snapped, unable to restrain herself any longer.

"Muffins are ready!" Marie popped her head into the lab, radiating domestic joy and holding a platter of picturesque pastries. The three just sort of stared back at her, blinking. Her smile faltered, lips pursing. "I'll just… leave them here then…"

"Thank you Marie. We'll be there in a minute." Stein gave her a reassuring smile, then refocused his attention on the sword and scythe meisters. Maka flushed, pouting her lips off to one side and refusing to meet his gaze.

"You are both familiar with the soul-mind-body nexus."

"Of course. You taught us." She didn't mean to be short with him, but her pride was stinging too badly for tact.

"Describe what you understand."

"The mind, soul, and body are three pillars of a person," answered Crona, looking at Stein for signs of approval. "No one can work without the other two, and all three have to be aligned for soul resonance to occur."

"Yes, those are the basics," said Stein, nodding. Crona flushed, pleased with himself. "The soul-mind-body nexus is at the core of soul resonance, magic, and Madness. To understand the interactions between these three aspects of a person is to understand the order of our existence."

Professor Stein swiveled in his chair, turning towards a large chalk board by his desk and beginning to diagram. A stick figure and a brain formed the basis of a large triangle, a small soul taking form at the apex.

"For normal people, the soul is essentially inconsequential, taking little part in their day-to-day lives. Anyone at this school, however, is deeply concerned with the soul. That is where our power as meisters and demon weapons is drawn. Now if we look at something relatively simple, like soul resonance, we can perceive the connection in a more linear sense. The minds of the weapon and meister focus on an objective, causing the weapon's soul to resonate with the meister's. That is to say, the intent of the mind generates a resonance frequency in the weapon's soul, which connects with the meister's soul to push it to its maximum amplitude. The weapon then channels this optimized soul wavelength through its and its meister's bodies, thereby executing the original objective. Do you follow?"

"Yes," Maka nodded, frowning a little in concentration. Crona was also intrigued, his head tilted very slightly as he studied the figure, following Stein's fingers as he talked them through the diagram.

"Good. Now Madness and magic are much more complex. Madness resides primarily in the mind while magic is an artifact of the body. Our examples here are Kishin and Witches respectively."

"Witches are born and Kishin are created," muttered Crona, more to himself than anything.

"Exactly. A Witch is a product of biology, their magic a form of physical energy that can be alchemically measured and quantified. The mind and body are connected through biochemistry. Thus use of magical abilities will affect the mind; the so-called "Pull of Magic." Specifically, a mechanism of positive feedback is established through extended and continuous use of magic, making destruction addictive. As a Witch ages, the Pull becomes stronger and the level of chaos they need to cause to satisfy it increases. This, in turn, leads to a more powerful intent and discipline, which is what strengthens the soul.

"Conversely, a Kishin originates with a disturbed mind. Now I want to be clear here: mental illness and Madness are two very different things. Mental illness is much more like magic in its biochemical mechanism. Madness is… the loss of boundaries. It is the fractures in those walls within which our thoughts, experiences, and emotions are held into a unique self. The way a will is a force of construction, Madness is a force of destruction. You both know what I'm talking about."

"Madness makes you want things you don't want," whispered Crona, staring straight at Stein. "It makes you its puppet, but you think you're the one making choices. It makes you so hungry, you consume yourself."

"We all have Madness within, but what separates those who become Kishin Eggs is surrender to that hunger, and that happens in the mind. The initial consumption of innocent souls is a choice, and that innocence feeds the Madness. This further twists the mind, distorting the soul and mutating the body."

"Until a God of Madness is created," finished Maka, her voice quiet. "But I still don't understand what any of this has to do with Crona's blood test."

"Crona is a unique individual that exists between soul resonance, magic, and Madness. If you hope to comprehend what I found in his blood, then you need to understand that and how it all relates back to the soul-mind-body nexus."

"So there was something. It wasn't Crona's fault."

"Crona," Stein turned his attention to the pink haired meister, giving him an intense look. "This might be hard for you to hear. I need to know you're ready."

Crona's fingers dug into the flesh just above his left elbow, pressing so hard his knuckles were white. His eyes were wide and icy blue, his form laced with tension. But he wasn't shaking. Breath slow and controlled, he met Stein's gaze with an intensity of his own, features hard.

"Tell me."


	6. Chapter 6

Stein pulled out a cigarette and slid it between his lips, holding a small flame to its end until a dull, red glow took hold. Inhaling deeply, then exhaling a long stream of smoke. Maka and Crona sat before him, still and fearful, yet determined. For the majority of the day they'd both managed to dream nothing was wrong, that the previous day hadn't even happened. They'd played a game of normalcy, pretending there was no such thing as witches or Little Ones. Pretending, just for a while, that his blood wasn't black. Now the game was up and the truth loomed over them.

"Professor please, I need to know. What did you find inside me? Why did I attack Patty and Kid?"

"You did it because you've been conditioned to." Stein took another drag on his cigarette, looking through glared lenses at the pink haired meister. "At least, that seems to be the simplest answer."

"Conditioned? What does that mean," asked Maka, frustration and fear making her voice raw. "And how would you find evidence of that in a blood test?!"

"Crona, do you remember telling me about the snakes? The one's Medusa put inside you?"

His head gave a small shake, wide eyes unblinking. It looked like he was focusing too hard on controlling his breathing to actually speak. Stein nodded, crossing his legs and leaning back.

"You mentioned them yesterday. Now, behavioral conditioning can be a powerful force, especially when done under the right conditions, complete isolation and constant fear to name a few. People have been persuaded to think and do all kinds of things, given enough time. However, it is my belief that in your case, given the goals Medusa had outlined for you, classical conditioning would be insufficient. I think she regularly introduced magic into your mind to stimulate your Madness, bypassing your own decision making process to activate it."

Crona's breath caught, sweat beginning to bead on his brow. Worry pulsing in her gut, Maka reached over and brushed comforting fingers over his lean shoulder. He tensed for a second, then without releasing his arm, reached across his chest and grabbed her hand, like he was hugging himself. She could feel him trembling.

"They _are_ inside me," he whimpered. "I-I c-can't get away. I-I-I'll never be free."

"No. Medusa is dead and so are all of her snakes. What you experienced was more like a flashback."

"A flashback that makes him attack bunnies?" Maka couldn't keep the scorn out of her voice and silently hoped Professor Stein would understand that it wasn't directed at him. Crona shuddered and she immediately regretted the outburst.

"I found trace amounts of proteins commonly associated with magic in Crona's blood work. Now, my best guess is that years of layering behavioral spells into Crona's mind coupled with his own witch blood may have left a residue, if you will. Think of it like a dormant virus which can activate in response to certain triggers. It's my impression that a great deal of training was done using these… bunnies, which probably makes them a powerful visual cue. There may be others, which we'll need to identify. For now, simply try to avoid getting too upset."

"Try to avoid getting upset? That's your suggestion?" The words leapt from her throat, laced with contempt and disbelief.

"Yes. We don't have an extensive understanding of witches and magic here at the DWMA, so I'm going to need to do some research. Until I know more it's the best I can offer."

"I-" Crona started, swallowing hard. His mouth had gone dry, his insides a maze of painful knots. But still, he had to try. "I want to help. With the research."

There was a long, thick silence that almost made Crona reconsider. His instincts told him to run, to get away as quickly as he could before whatever terrible consequence this request had provoked could rain down on him. Yet Maka's hand was still warm in his, her body still close. She reached out to him with her soul, tickling the edges of his thoughts, like sunlight. Her bravery, grabbing his and pulling it from the shadows. Fear didn't alter the need. This was why he'd come, after all, the primary purpose of his visit. He couldn't back down now. Still shaking, he looked up into Stein's narrow, olive stare.

"Do you know what you're asking? This work will be invasive and deeply personal for you, and you may not like what we find."

"I need to know what she did to me," he said quietly, holding eye contact. "It's there, whether I know about it or not, and as long as I'm alive I'll have to deal with it. But how can I deal with something I don't understand? How can I stop it from happening when I don't know what it is?"

"You're serious." Stein pulled the cigarette from between his lips and pressed the embers into an ashtray.

"I am."

"You should be aware that there may be another force at play, something external to you. I can't say more than that with any certainty, but you will need to be vigilant, even if you're not intentionally exposing yourself to trauma."

"I understand that. Please Professor Stein. I can't slip anymore. I need to know."

"Alright then…" Stein uncrossed his legs and leaned towards the pair, the glare off his glasses making it impossible to read his already perfectly neutral expression. "I will discuss this with Lord Death and let you know when I get an answer."

Crona took a shaky breath and nodded, fear churning in his gut. A second or so ticked by before Maka stood, pulling the sword meister with her and preparing to leave. Professor Stein's words caught them as they passed out of the lab.

"And Crona: be careful."

* * *

"It was nice of Miss Marie to send us home with all the muffins, wasn't it," Maka probed gently, trying to catch his storm-cloud blue eyes as the pair walked down the cobble stone street. It had gotten dark, the grinning moon peaking down at them from just above the building tops. "Though I suppose we'll have to start calling her Mrs. Marie soon, once she and Stein get married."

"Ye-yeah…"

"Crona? Are you okay? You seem…" Maka licked her lips, searching for the right word. He tucked his chin, looking morose. "You can tell me. Or maybe we can write a poem when we get home? Pasta's easy to make; Soul can do it just fine."

"I… I don't know if I can write a poem… I don't know if I can make sense of it like that… I don't know if it makes sense at all." He paused, frowning.

"Not everything is going to make sense Crona," Maka pushed softly. "Not all at once. You learned a lot today; it's okay to give yourself time to process it all."

"There's so much…So much that fits and so much that doesn't. I knew I was her tool; I always understood that much. I never questioned it, never questioned why, not until you brought me here. It was the first time I felt like a person instead of a thing, and when she came back it was almost enough."

They'd stopped walking, hovering at the base of a steep set of stairs maybe a block or so from their apartment. Crona was fidgeting, his gaze shifting this way and that, as if still searching for Medusa, waiting for her to materialize once more from the shadows.

"I said no at first. I told her I didn't want to be her spy, that it would make my friends angry, but then… "For your dear mother." That's what she said to me. I remember her saying that and then my mind went blank. Still… in the morning, once she was gone… The magic was gone… I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. Even when she wasn't there, I did it anyway…"

Maka transferred the box of muffins to one hand and reached out to him with the other. He froze under her touch, standing absolutely still, eyes falling closed. The words kept coming, flowing between his lips like pressure being released.

"I'm so confused Maka. I've always believed that everything I did was my choice, that secretly I am a monster and I wanted to do it."

"That's what she wanted you to think Crona," she breathed, fingers resting lightly on his shoulder. "That's how she planned to make you a Kishin."

"I went to see you, you know. After it happened…before… I went to your apartment, I watched you train, I hid while you and Soul practiced. Whenever I didn't feel cold inside I went to see you. But I was so afraid you would hate me, and by the time I decided that it didn't matter, that I had to tell you anyway, Eruka would be back asking for my report. She'd tell me that Medusa was counting on me or that she was pleased and it would get quiet inside my mind.

"That was one of the triggers Professor Stein was talking about, I think… All that time… She controlled me with nothing more than a word and there was nothing I could do. When you came after me in the desert, I thought you were going to hit me. I wanted you to hit me. But you were right. And I was right. And I don't know what to think anymore…"

Maka set the box down and came around to face him. Wordlessly, she cupped his face, cradling it in both hands like something fragile and precious. He didn't fight her, didn't resist as she drew him closer. Then she stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his forehead, just below his hairline in his bangs, and he stiffened. Inside him, a white light surged like waves of water, smoothing the sharp edges of his fear, quieting the storm in his thoughts. She held him like that for a long moment, the tingle of his warm, damp skin pulsing though her heart, the trembling in his body radiating through her own flesh. When she broke contact, she didn't pull away, keeping their faces close so she could stare right into his eyes.

"I'm proud of you," she said quietly, smiling a soft, compassionate smile. "I'm so, _so_ , _**so**_ _**proud**_ of you Crona."

"Maka…" His lips parted as he met her gaze, something he didn't understand aching in his chest. A million thoughts swirled in his mind, tied up, each fighting with the others to find words, each trying to be voiced. There was so much he wanted to say, and yet only one thought filled his mind, drowning out all others. "What… What did you do? What was that?"

"That's a kiss, silly. It's something you give people who are more important to you than anything else."

"A kiss… I've never…" A memory flashed through his head: the couple from that morning. Two bodies entwined, their mouths pressed against each other. They had been kissing. It had made them both happy. Something inside him gave way and his body started moving of its own accord. Their bodies were so close, her heat against his, her warmth… His hands reached around her, fingers finding the small of her back and pressing into it. His face moved forward, causing her palms to slide across his cheeks and past his head. Slowly he inched closer, until his bangs brushed her nose and she could feel his breath on her lips.

 _For one, you're the most disturbed little shit to ever walk the planet. And then there's that thing between your legs. And then there's these!_

Maka froze, her breath catching in her throat, her body stiffening as she simultaneously tried to recoil and held herself still. She couldn't do it- couldn't _let_ him do it, not with the secrets she wasn't supposed to know hanging between them. Not when she hadn't told him what she'd heard. Not when her own feelings were so convoluted and uncertain. But she'd kissed him first… and it wasn't like she was pulling away… Something she didn't recognize surged inside her, battling against her reason, grabbing hold of her nerve endings and bathing them in pleasant tingles wherever Crona touched.

Then the crisis was over. He moved past her mouth, tilting his head and instead pressing his lips to her cheek. They felt cool against her burning flesh, gentle and innocent and tentative as spring snow. So soft… He hadn't known to pucker them or anything like that and she could feel his tiny, upturned nose poke her cheekbone. The contact burnet away all his fear and uncertainty, leaving nothing but soft joy in its place. For a long moment he just held her like that, savoring it. Then fatigue overtook him. He collapsed against her, burying his face in her shoulder and curling his fingers lightly in her sweater, trying to keep them secured in place. Maka hesitated a moment longer before her hands settled in his hair, stroking it gently.

There would be consequences; she knew that. But they would deal with them later. For now, alone in the night, it was enough to just hold and be held. In this world so filled with pain and chaos, it was enough, just for a moment, to be comfortable with someone special.

* * *

Soul was absolutely glowering. He hadn't slept in two days, one housemate was constantly on the edge of either panic or insanity, and the other was being stubborn and self-righteous as usual. One look at the pair as they came back through the door told him everything he needed to know; the blood test hadn't cleared up anything. In fact, the situation was significantly messier than previously thought. And he wasn't just thinking about Crona's mind. Maka had come through the door with a box of muffins in one arm and the sword meister in the other, but the guilty edge of her features as she avoided Soul's eye told him this wasn't the result of reconciliation. Crona still didn't know what private things had been thrown out into the open. He hadn't been given the choice of how to respond.

"Hey Soul," she greeted, setting the box on the table and avoiding eye contact. "I promised Crona we'd have pasta for dinner. I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, you mentioned that earlier," he grumbled, resting his face in one palm and jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Water's already on the stove."

"We don't _have_ to have pasta," Crona muttered, eyes darting between Soul and the hand he was still holding. The weapon's mood was palpable, a dark, grouchy cloud that filled the room and made him terribly nervous. He was still afraid that Soul was angry with him, that he didn't approve of Maka being in his bed.

"You kidding, I love pasta." Soul grinned, gesturing to the seat next to him. Crona released Maka's hand and settled into it, looking wary. Any other day he would've just rolled with it, slowly convincing the pink haired meister that there was nothing to worry about, that he hadn't done anything wrong, and they could just eat dinner like three regular people. But just now he was exhausted, and that made his usually infinite patience evaporate. He focused his crimson gaze on Crona.

"So, what's up? Anything in the blood work?" Crona stiffened, wide eyes shooting to Maka and causing Soul's smile to twitch. "If you don't want to tell me don't tell me. You don't need _her_ approval."

"Soul," Maka scolded, giving him a dirty look from the muffins.

"I'm sorry! I-I-I-"

"Don't be sorry, Crona, I'm not mad at you." Soul sighed heavily, meeting Maka's gaze with a look of his own. "I'm mad at Maka and I'm taking it out on you."

"I… I don't understand… Why?"

"She knows why."

"I think the water's boiling." Maka flushed scarlet, turning her back to the two and busying herself in the kitchen. Crona frowned, blinking, twisting his fingers in his lap. His intuition was adamant, voices whispering in his mind that Soul was lying and he still needed to be sorry. When he'd first moved in, he would've just assumed that was the truth and sat there feeling guilty. But feeling guilty seemed to annoy Soul more than anything, which left him in an uncomfortable situation. Still feeling brave from earlier, he decided to check.

"Is it… my fault? Are you mad at Maka because of something I did?"

"It's got nothing to do with… anything you've done." He was going to say "you," but that wasn't quite true. It wasn't all about Crona, but he was a part of it. If anything, Soul was angry with Maka on his behalf, irritated that she was apparently taking advantage of his feelings to explore her own.

"Maka's a big girl; she's responsible for her own choices. Anyway, about the blood test. Do you want to tell me or should I quit asking?"

"Crona's one seriously messed up little psycho." Crona winced a little and Ragnarok sprayed out of his back, coming around his shoulder to leer at Soul. "But we knew that already."

"And it has absolutely nothing to do with you, right?" Soul placed a palm in his face and gave a good shove. Ragnarok battled back, tiny fists flailing.

" _I'm_ not the one whose brain is still covered in Medusa's magic, dumb ass!"

"Why you-"

"No, he's right." Crona's soft voice punctuated the argument, drawing their attention to him. He looked embarrassed and dejected, his dark gaze fixed on nothing in particular. "It's not Ragnarok, it's me. I'm the problem."

"I don't know what you were expecting. All those times you told her "no," even after days in that dumb closet, I would've gotten fed up and hexed you too!"

"Wait a sec, it sounds like you knew about this." Soul grabbed Ragnarok at his base, pulling him closer and giving him a wrathful stare. Ragnarok's long, red tongue lolled out, swirling around Soul's face and causing the weapon to recoil forcefully, retching.

"Sure I did. I'm his blood, I know everything that goes on inside him." Crona tensed, flushing deeply. Ragnarok noticed, settling on top of his head and pressing against the back of his neck, causing the meister to shiver. "Everything…"

"So what you're saying is that, this whole time, you knew Madness could take over Crona at any moment, and you never said anything?" Maka's voice shook as she tried to keep the rage contained.

"Don't over cook the pasta! You dumb cow!"

"Ragnarok answer the question." In contrast Crona's voice was steady, hard and clear, like glass. The demon weapon froze, his white eyes rolling downward so he could stare at his meister.

"What would've been the point? It's not like it works when I do it. Watch. Crona, get them now."

Crona's breath caught, his body going rigid, ice blue eyes wide. A wave of cold silence washed through him, not overwhelming like with the Little One, but not negligible either. He didn't want to. He refused. This time, his will was enough, and the compulsion passed just as quickly as it came, leaving the pink haired meister shaking. Maka abandoned the pasta and moved to his side, taking his face in her hands and forcing their eyes to meet. She was like sunlight, a beam of warmth into his dark solitude, a power of kindness that loosed the bands of panic around his chest and allowed him to breathe regularly. Ragnarok smiled, shooting Soul a devilish look.

"There. That's as far as it can go without the witch."

"It went a lot further than that with that rabbit," bit Soul, getting up and taking over Maka's cooking duties.

"God, the rabbit! I thought we'd finally graduated from killing that dumb rabbit! Guess she figured we forgot how to do it, after all this time. But we showed her, didn't we Crona!"

"Ragnarok, we didn't kill the Little One this time…" Crona said in a small voice, tugging free of Maka and looking up at him.

"What, are you crazy? Of course we did! If we hadn't we'd be back in that stupid closet; you know how this works!" His bulky white hands reached around Crona's face, pinching his cheeks and nose while his meister ineffectually swatted, like some sort of bizarre ritual. Maka attempted to intervene, but whenever she aimed a shot at Ragnarok, he held up Crona's face as a human shield.

"I think you're the crazy one- hey! Cut it out!" Soul shot a string of insults over his shoulder, pouring off the water and adding cheese and sauce to their pasta. "Will you three knock it off already! Medusa's dead. Maka and I killed her. She wasn't there and that dumb rabbit ran off into the woods!"

"Don't be stupid, of course she was! I told you, it only works for the witch! Crona wouldn't have gone all terminator otherwise! He's such a weakling; he can't even handle a fly! And that rabbit is dead! We killed it! If we hadn't we'd still be out there right now hunting the little bastard down and tearing out its guts!"

Ragnarok released Crona's face and stretched towards Soul, absolutely snarling. Maka, worked up into a fury of her own, took the opportunity to smash her fist between the weapon's eyes. It was a good punch; Ragnarok went flying back. Unfortunately he was forever attached to his meister, and Crona toppled out of the chair. He hit the floor, sighing heavily. It was always so pointless to argue with the demon sword.

"Oh Crona! I'm so sorry," Maka squealed, kneeling down beside him, her hands hovering unhelpfully.

"Oh Crona," Ragnarok mocked, imitating her in a grating falsetto. Crona pushed himself into a sitting position, looking defeated.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he whispered, grabbing one arm and pulling it across his chest. "I… I think I'll go to my room…"

"Without food!? No! You can starve yourself all you want but I'm hungry!"

"Crona…" Maka reached out to touch him, but he recoiled, avoiding her eye. He couldn't think or feel anymore, couldn't hold himself together for a second longer. All day he'd been brave; now he needed the corner. Her fingers fell, physically stinging from the rejection, but she understood.

"This is almost ready; I just have to cook the meat," said Soul, electing to focus his attention on the heating skillet rather than the not-quite couple. "If you want to head back to your room, then we'll just leave some bowls outside your door when it's done. You can eat whenever."

"Umm." Soul gave him a look over one shoulder, his crimson gaze hardening inside Crona, steadying him. He got to his feet. "Okay…"

Maka watched him move away from the floor, a sort of strange emptiness aching in her chest. This was always the way it was with Crona; things would be going well and then, suddenly, not so well. She never appreciated how far he pushed himself, how much he did that was outside of his comfort zone. It had to be exhausting. There was the sound of a door closing and then a long silence, which hung like dust in the air.

"So…"

"Soul, don't."

"You didn't say anything." It was a simple statement, said casually without looking at her. Anger burned just beneath the surface.

"Seriously? You're still worried about that," she chastised, frowning as shame surged once more inside her. "Don't we have bigger problems?"

"That's exactly why you need to deal with it! Look, I never said it was going to be fun, but the longer you wait the worse it'll be. Don't you get it? You're betraying his trust Maka and he doesn't need that. Especially not now."

"I know!"

"Then what's the hang up?"

"I…" Maka's words froze in her throat, grating like broken glass. Slowly, she stood, hands balled into fists at her sides, back turned towards him. "Everything's happening all at once…"

"You know, it's okay if you don't know how you feel. Just don't lead him on like this."

"It's not just about feelings. There are things… about his body… I don't care, but I don't know how to tell him I don't care. Every time I think about bringing it up it feels like I'm trapping him, like I'd be forcing him to deal with it right there."

"That's not a bad thing Maka. He's got his whole life ahead of him and eventually he's gonna have to learn how to take things as they come. At least with you he feels safe."

"I can't do it Soul." She hung her head, her pigtails sliding over her shoulders to obscure her face. "I just can't."

"You're so emo sometimes," he sighed, running his tongue over his sharp teeth. "Whatever. If you can't tell him to his face then write him one of those stupid poems or something. But you've gotta come clean. I mean, you spent the night with him Maka; to most people that means something. You can't just ignore it."

"I know…"


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Hi all! First off, I would like to thank everyone for the reviews! They mean the world to me as a writer. Secondly, fair warning: this next part may be awkward. If you're concerned about being made uncomfortable, you might want to skim or skip the three paragraphs following the first italics. I don't think it's terribly explicit compared to some of the stuff on here, but figured I'd give a little heads up anyway.**

 **Anyway, do enjoy! And continue letting me know what you think! I write things with a certain purpose in mind and I love to know if that's been communicated.**

* * *

Even after all this time, it still felt odd to Crona to have hot water. Medusa always left a bucket, stashed in the corner with a little stool, and during his childhood that had been his shower. Sometimes, especially in the winter, it would freeze. He probably would've preferred being dirty to breaking through the ice and exposing his flesh to the cold, but things had been different then. Medusa had decided when he bathed; she controlled when he ate, when he slept, and when he fought. His preferences were of no consequence. If she didn't like the way he smelled or otherwise found him too disgusting to look at, then ice or not, he'd spend hours scrubbing until his flesh was raw. Present himself, shivering and crying, for her inspection. The water had never been hot. It had never even been warm. Always with Lady Medusa, everything was cold…

In jarring contrast, Maka made sure he was always warm. She never recoiled away from him, never made him feel like a waste of flesh. She allowed him to touch her, to experience contact and savor connection. Maka made him a person and sometimes, when he got too lost in his thoughts, the novelty of it scared him. That sounded silly, irrational even, but he couldn't shake the fear. The uncertainty… For his entire life he'd existed in a vacuum, an artificial universe composed of Medusa's will. Now though, with Maka, as part of the world where she existed, he experienced something beyond fear and loneliness. Here there was happiness, true, but also guilt and confusion. The rippling consequences of his actions and inactions became glaringly obvious. Words like "responsibility," which had previously held no meaning, pounded in his head. He didn't understand and, for the first time in his life, that bothered him. His heart hammered and his ribs started to collapse. His breath came in short, painful gasps.

Maka had been distant ever since that night. Not unkind, not harsh, just… distant. Like the sudden lack of her hand in his, or the way she'd stopped touching his face. Meeting his eye… He couldn't fathom what had made her pull away, or really prove that she'd pulled away at all, but Crona knew it was his fault. Something he'd done had been terribly wrong; he wasn't sure what. It had been a hard day, that much was true, but in his memory all the parts involving Maka had been nice. Or at least made nicer by her presence. She hadn't seemed upset, not even a little. She'd seemed… happy. Happy to be with him. And now something was wrong. Soul had told him that it wasn't his fault. That this was something Maka had to deal with and that he shouldn't be so worried about her. Yet he couldn't stop himself. He missed her.

Poking his head into the jet of water, he allowed the rush of it past his ears to drown out the whirl of thoughts in his mind. Just for a moment. The storm settled, his pulse slowed, and a passing tranquility descended around him. Water flowed over his face, tripping over his closed eyelids and streaming off his nose. Off his lips. Everywhere felt warm and nice. Like being with Maka. Yes, sometimes it was harder to be a person. And he wouldn't lie to himself and say that Maka never made him feel uncomfortable; her drive and stubbornness combined to push him further than he could really handle more often then he cared to admit. But there were other things, other feelings that he didn't know the names for, that she spawned inside him. Feelings that seemed important, that made themselves a priority. Feelings that thrilled him and scared him and made him feel alive.

As much as he knew there were more important things for him to worry about, and as much as those things consumed him, this was where his mind ended up. Whenever he felt calm or was otherwise distracted from the abomination of his own existence, his thoughts went to Maka and the feeling's began to take hold. Hot, like the water, but deep inside him. It was like a hunger, a starvation that could only be pacified by her. In the beginning her mere presence, just knowing that she was there and that she wanted to be his friend, had been enough. Then time passed and the ache grew. Crona didn't know what it was; he'd never experienced something like this before. But touching her, the feeling of his lips against her cheek, the closeness of their bodies like a single point of burning contact in the darkness... what had she called it? A kiss? Something you give to someone who's more important than anything else?

 _A series of little moaning sounds. Two people, mouths and tongues entwined, like they were trying to eat each other. Panting and sucking and nipping. Hands roaming through locks of hair and skating across curved flesh. Drifting down to a place he can't see. But he knows where- or at least assumes. It's where the hunger is centered, where the need is growing._

A little gasp hissed across Crona's lips as the place between his legs surged with blood, coming alive as he thought about it. He replaced the pair in his memory with himself and Maka and the place seemed to swell. Starving. He missed her so much… and he was alone… the sound of water blanketed any noises he made… Maybe it was safe… Cautiously, screwing up his face as if in preparation for something truly unpleasant, Crona reached a hand downward, probing with the very tips of his fingers. They brushed over his stomach, running through a fine patch of stiff curls, until they found the source.

It was swollen and exposed, rising out from his body like a separate entity, throbbing with its own heartbeat. When he touched it fire shot through his nerves, but not painful fire. It felt good. Better than usual. He pretended his fingers were Maka's and suddenly the lightest caress sent millions of pleasurable sparks up his nerve endings. They flooded his brain, drowning out the fears and worries, making it difficult to think about anything besides Maka. Wetness leaked between his legs, slippery for a moment and then gone the next, washed away. Heat built up inside him, causing a different kind of sweat to briefly surface on his skin before that, too, was dissolved in the water as it flowed over him. Maka's lips, Maka's hands, the idea of making her feel this good. This spot between her legs.

Suddenly he couldn't think of anything at all. One hand pressed into the tile, supporting his weight while the other continued to rub, but his mind was absolutely blank. Waves of shuddering, whimpering, gasping pleasure crashed through his body, igniting every fiber, consuming every cell, exercising a tension he hadn't known he'd been carrying.

Then it passed and he was just standing there, breathing hard in the shower. Shame settled into the emptiness inside him and he crumpled, curling into a ball under the water. Why… why had he done that? Why had he indulged his deformed, disgusting body? Why had he thought Maka, the personification of all things clean and pure, into such a dirty situation? How could he do that to her?

Something else crossed his mind, a thought that replaced all the warmth inside him with frigid terror. What if she found out? Maka was his best friend, his protector and the person that he had to protect, but she was also his patron. Lord Death and her father Spirit didn't like him. They didn't trust him, and for good reason. Maka was the one who convinced them to let him stay. She was the only reason he was in Death City, a student at the DWMA with friends and grades and exams. The rock that kept him from the Madness. Without her he would fall. Without Maka, he was Kishin.

 _Good Crona. That's very good. Tell me why you're shaking. Tell me what you fear. Be specific._

Crona's insides froze, his eyes going wide and his heart stopping. There. Again. Crawling in his skull. Exploring. Poking at thoughts, pulling them to the surface, laying them out on display and sorting. Like being gutted. Slime slid across his skin and he shuddered, scooting out from under the showerhead and looking up. It wasn't water anymore… This new presence had taken away the water, replacing it with a thick, red-black, viscous liquid which oozed from the little holes in a sick stream. It was coming out of the wall too, leaking from between the tiles and dripping down into the tub. Long, shadowy hands clawed at the shower curtain, sliding down it, grabbing fistfuls, slapping at the plastic like it was the last fragile barrier between Crona and whatever monster they were attached to.

He froze, prey still, wide eyes darting from the syrup to the door and back as he pressed his back into the porcelain. Trapped. A low, horrible giggle started him his chest, scratching his throat as it begged for release. Reason drained from his body, leaving him terrifyingly hollow. An emptiness into which a new, awful certainty would soon be born. He knew what this was. He knew what came next, but he didn't want to. He refused.

"Th-th-this isn'tttt h-ha-happening," he whispered to himself, the words barely audible even in the swollen stillness of Madness. "It-it-it's n-not-t r-re-real. It-it's n-not real. It's not real. It's not happening."

"Hey Crona, you doin' okay? You've been in there a while."

"S-Soul!" Crona gasped, sucking in a lung-full of moist air and coughing a little as the world snapped back into focus. He was curled up in the far side of the bathtub, huddled away from the stream of water, arms wrapped securely around his knees. The water had gone cold…

"Are you alright," Soul repeated, the worry palpable in his voice. "Do you need me to get your meds?"

"I-I-I-I'm-m-m-m f-f-fin-ne."

"You don't sound fine… I'm coming in."

"No!" He practically screamed the word, trying to get up, slipping, and toppling back into the tub with a loud, metallic crash. "No, Soul, please! Don't come in! I'm really fine! I just… I just…"

"Okay, calm down. Jeeze. Any way, I just wanted to check on you."

"Th-thank you." He turned off the water in time to hear Soul's footsteps move back up the hall, dripping and shivering. Regaining control of his breath, he leaned his forehead against the tile, allowing his eyes to close for just a moment. "Thank you…"

What he didn't notice was the little stream of diluted black blood spiraling into the drain. If he had, he could've traced it back to the two swollen puncture wounds above his inner ankle. He would've seen the viscous liquid his body was expelling before the wounds closed and sank back into his flesh.

* * *

"Why hello there Kid! Thank you so much for coming! Have I mentioned how adorable the stripes in your hair look today?"

"Please don't Father," sighed Kid, moving to the center pedestal in the Death Room, arms folded, golden eyes narrow. To his left, Professor Stein was smoking what looked to be his fourth cigarette, the previous three poking from various pockets in his lab coat. To his right, Spirit looked uncharacteristically agitated, exchanging meaningful glances with Sid. And right in front of him, holding a small teacup that looked much too fragile for his massive white hands, was the father he didn't always understand.

"You know how much these horrible stripes bother me."

"Indeed, indeed. Though I can't fathom why; they're so _cute!_ I'm right, aren't I?" He looked around the room, gesturing to Kid as one might to a piece of art.

"Absolutely darling," affirmed Stein in a monotone, the lenses of his glasses glaring. "However, that is not the purpose of this meeting."

"Oh Dr. Stein, you're such a party-pooper!"

"May I ask what that purpose is," Kid inquired, voice dripping with formality.

"Come on, you already know why we're all here," mumbled Spirit, eyes narrowing.

"Haven't the foggiest."

"It's about Crona," Sid said quickly, placing a restraining hand on Spirit's shoulder. At the sound of his name, the Death Scythe snapped.

"He's living with my little girl!"

"Yes. And they're quite close. You should've seen the way they were holding hands at my place the other day."

"Damn you Stein!" Spirit made a move towards the Professor, who was smirking at his success, but stopped when Lord Death held out his teacup.

"Now now Spirit, I understand you're upset. But Maka's a big girl and she can choose her own friends. That is not what we're here to discuss."

"Which is what, exactly?" Kid was starting to get irritated, a sharp note sliding into his otherwise polished voice.

"Crona's a time bomb," snapped Spirit, giving Stein a dirty look.

"Well… that's not _quite_ accurate."

"This is about the rabbit, then? I've already told you: it was never Crona's intention to harm me and the wound was negligible."

"The Demon Sword is dangerous and inherently violent, something like this was always bound to happen. Now, back when I was alive, I was the forgiving sort, but we can't just ignore something like this. Crona's a great kid, but we can't forget what he is and what he was made to be."

"Yes! Exactly! Which is why he shouldn't be living with Maka! He's dangerous!"

"Not to Maka. Come now, Spirit, don't pretend like you haven't been watching their apartment like a hawk for the past few months. If Crona was going to murder your daughter in cold blood, don't you think he'd have done it by now?"

"You're forgetting the part where he's a time bomb! What you found proves it! He can't be left alone with her! He's not safe!"

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on," yelled Kid, not even bothering to keep his expression neutral. "Honestly, if you don't want my opinion then fine, but don't invite me to a meeting and make me guess what you're talking about."

"Kid has a fair point," said Lord Death, affection glowing in his voice. "So let's stop bickering and get down to business. Professor Stein?"

"Crona's not a time bomb," Stein started, stashing the butt of cigarette number four in his front pocket and lighting number five. "But he's not as… predictable as we previously assumed."

"Meaning?"

"I found traces of magical proteins in his blood after the incident which I believe to be the result of some sort of conditioning methodology used by Medusa."

"In English, Stein's saying that Crona has a crazy switch that just anyone can flip and turn him back into a killing machine."

"Spirit! _That_ is extremely inappropriate." Steins hard gaze caught his former weapon partner in a freezing glare, expression tightening. "You know about Crona's PTSD. This is another manifestation of his trauma and should be treated as such."

"Listen Professor, we all know you have a unique perspective on Madness. I don't mean to be insensitive. That's not the kind of man I was. However, you're ignoring the fact that Crona's blood is a weapon. He can't _not_ be dangerous."

"Neither can I." Stein smiled, covering one eye with the palm of his hand. "And yet no one tries to run every decision I make past a committee."

"You're a special case, Professor Stein."

"As is Crona."

"What, exactly, is the issue here? The incident with the rabbit happened three days ago. If anyone is suggesting punishment, then as the injured party I protest. Such actions would be needless."

"No one is punishing Crona," reassured Lord Death, sipping his tea. "What we're here to discuss is whether or not Professor Stein should commence research on the Black Blood. With Crona's assistance."

"Assistance? As in donating his blood?"

"No, as a research assistant actively participating in the experiments and analysis of data." The room fell silent, though the undercurrents of emotion remained strong. Stein took a long drag on his cigarette before continuing. "He expressed an interest when I gave him the blood test results and I said I'd clear it with Lord Death. Two days ago."

"Don't judge me so harshly, Stein. This is a very serious matter. Crona is a very promising youth, but he's also proven to be quite fragile. Minimally he is the child of a witch, and these experiments will involve magic. We don't know what that could do to him, whether or not he'll experience the Pull. Medusa's Black Blood is a powerful creation; we cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands, even if those hands are Crona's."

"It's too risky," said Sid matter-of-factly. "I agree that the research needs to happen, but Crona should not be involved directly. We can't take the chance he'd follow in his mother's footsteps"

"That's more likely than you know," breathed Spirit, looking suddenly dejected. The entire room frowned at him, causing Spirit to sigh heavily, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I remember when Maka was little, the way she used to look at me, the joy she'd get when I praised her. The bond between a parent and child is as sacred and powerful as any force in nature, and Medusa weaponized it, corrupted it into a tool for her use."

"Medusa almost killed him. I'm pretty sure an arrow through the stomach is enough to sever even the strongest of bonds," said Stein nonchalantly.

"Maybe… I hope you're right Stein. But you remember that first night. Crona was ready to fight for her, to kill or be killed simply because she commanded it. He obviously didn't want to hurt anyone, I mean, he was terrified the whole time, and that didn't stop him. Nothing stopped him except unconsciousness. That kind of devotion, combined with his own strong Madness and these conditioning spells you say are still in his mind… I don't think he can handle it. I think it'll break him."

"What about you, Kid?" Lord Death turned to his son, giving him a quizzical look. "You fought Crona aboard the Nidhogg. You've also become his friend, am I right? What do you think we should do?"

"Crona is fragile and extremely dangerous, I will admit to that," answered Kid slowly, folding his arms and frowning. "He never learned morality, and some times I'm not sure if even now he understands the difference between right and wrong. Close supervision is absolutely necessary."

"Exactly," added Spirit, looking affirmed.

" _However_ , this is Crona's body we're discussing, therefore it is his decision. He has a right to ask any questions he sees fit and to seek answers to those questions. I've also learned that Crona can be quite determined, when he wants to. He's going to do the research, what we're discussing here is whether or not we, the school, will provide him a safe environment in which to conduct it."

"I see…" Lord Death held his face in one oversized hand, considering. "Very well. Professor Stein, please provide Crona with Medusa's journals; he can start there."

"All of them?"

"Hmmm… No. Not just yet. Give him the journals recovered from Medusa's lab first and we'll see how he does with them. We can always let him take a crack at the one's we can't decipher later, if he's still interested. Additionally, I would like to see Crona start taking some assignments; it's high time he came out of his shell."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Stein's voice had a metallic edge to it, but Lord Death brushed him off.

"Yes, quite sure. We should build up his confidence as much as possible, show him that he's capable of helping people, you know! Kid, will you take him on your next few missions? And see that Black Star and Maka do the same?"

"Of course Father."

"Good! Sid, perhaps you and Naigus could plan a physical for Crona? We really should update his medical records before he starts any sort of work."

"Alright, I'll set it up."

"Excellent! Now Spirit, I realize you're concerned about Maka, but I'd like you to prepare yourself for the possibility that she may be embarking on her first romantic journey. Be supportive."

"What!? Lord Death! You can't be serious!"

"I absolutely am. Oh, and perhaps you might consider reaching out to Crona? It seems extremely unlikely that he's ever had a father figure; some guidance might be in order."

"Guidance from the man who shattered Maka's mother's heart and continues to sexually harass everything with breasts? This should be entertaining."

"All righty then! That's all I got! You are all dismissed!"

Bowing slightly, the group began to file from the room, Sid first, then Spirit. Stein didn't move. Suspicion rolling in his gut, Kid hung back, hesitating on the edge of earshot.

"You still haven't told them about the centipede."

"No… I wanted to wait until we had more information. Speaking of, have you found anything new?"

"It's definitely some witch's familiar, imbued with a magic of its own. It's possible that's part of why Crona reacted so violently. There is no doubt in my mind that it was intentionally placed to illicit such a response."

A tiny tremor shot through Kid's stomach as his mouth went dry. So, there was more than they were being told. He wondered if even Crona knew, though he seriously doubted it. Nothing was ever out in the open.

"How could it have gotten into the city? Did we not put up extra layers of security after Medusa was discovered posing as the school nurse?"

"It was inside the rabbit; that must've shielded it from us somehow. We'll need to be vigilant."

"I'm also deeply concerned by the fact that this witch seems to have rather detailed knowledge about Crona's upbringing and Black Blood."

"Medusa was a thorough, methodical scientist; it's possible she had a hidden set of notes in another location. If this new witch stumbled upon them, and took an interest, she may now be trying to pick up where Medusa left off and complete the Black Blood."

Kid's insides turned to ice. An image of Crona flashed across his vision, curled downward in agony as a black dragon grew from his back, dangling him like some sort of puppet.

 _Hey… My blood is black you know…_

"We cannot allow that to happen."

"… I agree."

* * *

Four days. That's how long Maka had allowed this to continue. Soul couldn't figure out if she was genuinely incapable of owning up to her mistake or if her pride just couldn't withstand the blow of admitting she'd done something wrong. He was inclined to believe the former, given the fact that Crona's feelings hung in the balance and Maka was always doing her best to avoid hurting Crona, but the latter had a certain appeal. It would explain her guilt, at least. And to be clear, Maka had every reason to feel guilty. She'd spent the night in Crona's bed, eavesdropped on a deeply personal conversation, and then proceeded to take him out for an intimate breakfast, attend a very private meeting, and then give him his first god damn kiss on the way home. Each action had tremendous significance in isolation, and together they formed a pretty incriminating string of events which only became more incriminating as time passed.

Instead of just dealing with it, Maka had gone into semi-hiding, withdrawing from both Soul and the swordsman alike. Nothing huge, just a bunch of little things that added up into a big avoidance problem. Crona had noticed and, being Crona, assumed Maka didn't want to be his friend any more and was preparing to abandon him on the street. He'd asked Soul about it several times, becoming less and less easy to persuade. Each time Crona asked, Soul informed Maka, which apparently just made her pull back even further. And so the two retreated from one another, Crona into his corner and Maka into her books. It was absolutely infuriating. The more Soul thought about it, the angrier he got. What were they, children? How'd he get stuck quite literally between them?

Soul spun his pencil around his fingers, glowering down at Professor Stein without registering any part of his lecture. To his right, Maka took careful and complete notes, her focus singularly directed forward. Off to his left Crona was trying to do the same, taking notes in an indecipherable short hand and shooting Maka periodic, worried stares. This was Soul's life and he was hating every overly staged second of it.

There was a sharp pain in his ribs and he looked over to see Maka trying to make meaningful eye contact. Her elbow was, apparently, helping. It accomplished its objective, at least, pulling Soul's crimson stare towards his meister. She was blushing a little, green eyes flicking to the clock and back to him as she chewed on one lip. Wordlessly, and rather stealthily, she slid a folded piece of paper towards him. "Crona" was scrawled across the front in a slanted, curly script and up in the right corner there was a tiny attached note which was obviously meant for him: "Proof Read?"

"Are you serious right now," hissed Soul in an undertone, incredulity making his voice sharp. Her face puffed up and she looked away so fast, one pigtail slapped her in the face. Crona gave the pair a curious sideways look, not noticing the letter. "What are you looking for, my approval? That's not even a little cool."

"Damn it Soul, we're in class," she admonished, flushing.

"Alright, that's it for today. I will expect your papers Monday. Note that that's papers, plural, as in longer than one page. You are expected to write more than a sentence on the matter, Black Star."

"A big man like me doesn't need more than a sentence! A single word is good enough coming from a star like me!" As usual Black Star's voice absolutely blanketed the room, grabbing everyone's attention. He savored it, holding onto the spotlight by getting up onto the desk and flexing.

"Not any more," Soul grinned, holding Maka in her seat with the judgment in his glare.

"Come on Soul. _Please._ Not here…" Maka's voice trembled just a little, panic coming into her face as her eyes darted around. They came to a rest on Crona, who'd lost interest in Black Star's antics and had instead picked up on the tension to his right. His gaze met hers, soft and quizzical, and the blood drained from her face. Already, the masterful plan she'd spent days crafting was falling apart. And it hadn't even started yet!

"Really?!"

"Just so you all know, any papers less than three pages will be marked unsatisfactory, regardless of how big a star the author is."

There was a loud crash as Black Star fell off the desk in horror, eliciting a storm of laughter and profuse apologies from Tsubaki. Crona jumped at the noise, momentarily distracted. Maka tried to take advantage of it, reaching for her letter in an attempt to hide it before Crona could notice its existence, but Soul intervened. He placed his hand over the paper, smirking rather cruelly.

"Give it back! It's not done yet!"

"Oh yes it is. I am sick of this bullshit. You can either spill it right now, or I give him this letter, but this stalemate is done."

"I can't!" She was pleading, her thin voice hovering just below the end-of-class roar.

"Hey Crona," Soul called, turning his attention to the pink haired meister and sliding the paper towards him. Maka made to grab it, but Soul caught her shoulder, holding her flailing arms just out of reach. "Maka wrote this for you."

"For me?" Crona's voice was soft and surprised, his dark gaze flicking from the item in Soul's hand to Maka and back again. He felt skeptical, but his name _was_ written on the front, and it _was_ Maka's handwriting. Yet she didn't look particularly keen to give it to him. "Is it a poem?"

"I don't know man. You're just gonna have to read it."

"No don't! Don't read it Crona!" Maka screamed, tears of frustration and shame and a thousand other things burning in her eyes. Sweat dampened her skin and her heart was absolutely hammering. The whole room went still and Maka's desperation turned into an actual, physical sickness. Her face paled, nausea turned in her gut, and the look of hurt confusion on Crona's face made her want to die. Suddenly she just couldn't stand it any more. Forgoing her notes and bag, she spun around and ran from the lecture hall.

"Maka," Crona called after her, standing up. He made a move to follow, but then froze, sweat of his own beginning to bead on his forehead. Everyone, the whole room, was staring at him. The summation of a hundred eyes forming a steel fist around his chest, squeezing, making it painfully impossible to breathe. He couldn't deal with that right now. Maka was leaving and they were all staring and he just couldn't deal with it. His wide eyes went ice blue, his body shaking badly as he sank, slowly, into a crouch. Gasping, hiding under the desk, waiting for the horrible death that was surely coming. Waiting for the blows or the whispers or the laughter or… or the Madness.

"Okay guys, shows over," Soul said in a deep, resonating voice, waving the crowd to the door. "Come on, get out of here. Go start your weekends. I hear there's a party at Kid's place."

"There most certainly is not," cried Kid, indignant. But then Soul caught his golden gaze and he understood. Sighing heavily and deflating, he resigned himself to his role, tone absolutely flat. "Party at my place…"

And just like that the room drained, leaving only a few individuals behind: Crona huddled under the desk, Soul squatting next to him, Dr. Stein still at the podium, and Tsubaki holding Black Star by the collar. Silence covered them all.


	8. Chapter 8

"Nine…And ten… Feel better now?" Soul's voice was surprisingly soft, his crimson eyes steady as they looked into Crona's. The sword meister nodded, breathing regularly again.

"Yes."

"Tell me something so I know you're not just saying that."

"When you squat like that it looks like you're going to poop…"

Crona looked away, flushing a little. Apparently, that was an inappropriate thing to point out, and he said inappropriate things when he was relaxed. Soul chuckled, standing up and scratching his eyebrow. Then he extended a hand down towards Crona. Hesitating for just a second, he accepted and the weapon pulled him to his feet.

"He's good," Soul reported, still snickering a little under his breath. Crona glanced around shyly, assessing everyone's levels of approval. Professor Stein had a rare, genuine smile, Tsubaki was stifling a giggle, and Black Star looked dumbfounded.

"What a weird way to check," he commented, lacing his hands behind his head and blinking. "This how Maka does it too?"

"There's usually more hugging when Maka does it," said Soul dismissively. At the mention of her name Crona's eyes fell, coming to a rest on the letter that still sat innocently on his desk. An aching sadness invaded his chest and he frowned, slouching.

"Yes, I would assume so," said Stein, shoving his hands in his pockets as his olive gaze settled on the pink haired meister. "Now Crona, I wanted to discuss something with you."

"Yes?" Crona's head snapped up, his breath catching as a fresh wave of nervousness crashed inside him. The professor shook his head, still smiling a little.

"Not now; I can see this isn't a good time. Why don't you figure all of… this… out, then come by my home. There are some things we need to go over before you become my research assistant."

"R-research assistant?!"

"Yes. Assuming you still want to help study the Black Blood."

"I do! I wan to! I-I just-"

"Good, then that's settled, at least. There's no rush; come by whenever you're ready to start." And with that, the best meister to ever graduate from the academy turned and strode casually from the lecture hall, leaving his students dumb founded.

"Congratulations Crona," Tsubaki cheered, tilting her head and giving him a warm smile.

"Research assistant to Professor Stein, huh? See, I knew you were some kind of genius! You'd have to be to use that damn salad spinner. Just don't go getting any ideas about becoming a bigger star than me, got it? Doesn't matter how smart you are, no one will ever be able to do that."

"So, they're gonna let you help out the professor. That's pretty cool, right Crona?"

"Yeah, I guess…" Crona mumbled morosely, twisting his fingers.

"Could you at least try and act a little excited?"

"I'm sorry… I just… I thought Maka would be here when I found out… I don't understand why she ran away… I must've done something really awful this time…"

"You haven't done a damn thing," chastised Soul, shooting the door a disapproving glare. "How many times do I have to tell you that before you'll believe me?"

"It can't be true… Maka's upset because of something I did; I just know it."

"Why do you think that is," asked Tsubaki gently, leaning downward so she could catch Crona's eye.

"Because I'm… I'm me… Everything I do is wrong…"

"Dude, it's seriously not you. Not even a little. If you want to know what's up with her, then read that letter. I guarantee it'll be more accurate than whatever you're coming up with in your head."

"I can't…"

"Why the hell not?"

"Maka told me not to. She said not to read it. I can't do it if she said not to."

"You're one weird guy, you know," mused Black Star, grinning and shaking his head. "Getting all worked up over something Maka said while she was running out of a room like she meant it. Maka's crazy. I mean, she punched the Kishin in the face; you can't get crazier than that. She's all psychotic about rules and stuff, and she gets on my case all the time about how I'm supposed to follow them, like she doesn't know I'm going to surpass god. But then this one time she completely went off the rails, ignored direct orders from Lord Death and abandoned a mission-"

"She what," asked Crona, surprised and confused. Maka treated missions a sacred, and he couldn't imagine a circumstance in which she'd disobey any order, especially one directly from Lord Death. It just wasn't like her. It didn't make sense. "But she wouldn't do that…"

"She totally did. I thought her head was gonna explode, but she did it. And of course it's totally _fine_ when _she_ does it…"

"You don't know about this Crona," Tsubaki probed gently. "It was when she went after you and Ms. Marie. Maka abandoned the siege of Baba Yaga Castle to find you, leaving Black Star and I to complete the mission."

"Which we did, no problem!"

"But…" He bit into his lower lip, confused gaze downcast. "Why? Why would she… I never asked her to… She almost died…"

" _You_ almost died, remember," sighed Soul, shoving his hands into his pockets and rolling his eyes. Crona's breath caught, one hand moving to his stomach, pressing against his scar. "As for Maka, she did it because she wanted to. It was rough, and she spent forever agonizing over it, trying to rationalize that you didn't need us as much as the assault did, that Lord Death knew what he was doing and Ms. Marie was powerful enough to keep you safe and all that jazz. But she'd been worrying about you for days; hearing that you'd gone after Medusa sent her off the deep end."

"I should've told her… I didn't want to lie, I wanted to tell, but they said not to…"

"Crona, will you shut up for two seconds and listen to me?! Maka made a choice and she chose you! Don't you get it?! Don't you see what that means?!"

Crona's head snapped up and he recoiled away from Soul, fear twisting his face, eyes wide. It was obvious: he had no idea. He didn't understand, couldn't put the pieces together. Tsubaki let out a little sigh of compassion, stepping forward. Quietly, catching his wild gaze with her own gentle stare, she reached out to him, touching his chest with the tips of her fingers. Warmth emanated from the point of contact and Crona felt himself calm just a little.

"Sometimes its hard to know what we feel, especially when its something new," she said softly, smiling. "It's difficult to trust what we don't understand, for Maka especially, and when we don't trust what we feel, decisions that are actually quite easy become hard. Now Maka and I are very different, but as her friend, I think I can say with some certainty that it's the dissonance between her emotions and her rationalizations that cause Maka's grief. In the forest, before the siege, it's true that she was extremely upset, and that nothing any of us said or did seemed to help. But then she made the decision to go to you, to be wherever you were, and she was the happiest she'd been in days. She admitted to what she felt in _here_ , and all of her strength came back."

Tsubaki pressed her palm to Crona's sternum, his heart beating quickly beneath her fingertips. His lips parted and, for a moment, the two just looked at each other.

"I don't know a lot about what's going on with you two, but I can guess that Maka's struggling with that dissonance again. She has a hard time being vulnerable, which is probably why she wrote you a letter. Whatever is in there is what she needs to tell you."

"But I _can't_ read it," he pleaded, tears starting to shine in his eyes. " _She told me not to_. I have to do what she says."

"That's stupid. Maka's got a mean streak, but there's no way she'd make you do _everything_ she says," said Black Star, confounded. Tsubaki's hand dropped back to her side as she gave Crona a confused frown. He held eye contact, expression a mixture of a thousand different kinds of sorrow.

"You don't understand. And I don't know how else to say it. She's Maka. This is how it's supposed to be."

"You're not anyone's servant anymore Crona. That means you have to make your own decisions now," Soul said without looking at him. His crimson eyes were fixed on something in the distance, something none of the others could see, his face hard. "Maka wrote that letter for you, regardless of what she said. Read it or don't, that's your choice, but don't treat Maka like she's some kind of infallible being. If you keep trying to put her on this pedestal, it's not going to work out. Let her be a person, then see where it goes. That's my advice, anyway."

* * *

Crona stood there for a long while, even after all the others had drained from the room, staring at the letter. He took in the precise, meticulous folding, the afterthought note up in the corner, the way the handwriting differed between it and his name. The note was sloppy, rushed and cramped, the words slanting from the upper right corner in a sort of arc. At the top of the "P" there was a thick spot of ink, as if her pen had hesitated there, waiting for her mind to decide whether or not she really wanted Soul to look it over. Ultimately, she hadn't trusted herself, and the rest of the letters flowed quickly, mashed together. In contrast his name was beautiful. These letters were slanted and curly, ornamented but not overly feminine, and perfectly spaced. Each line was thick, like she'd spent a great deal of time shaping and planning the word. Slow and deliberate. He liked the way she wrote his name. He liked how beautiful it was when it came from Maka.

It suddenly occurred to him how terribly exposed he was in the lecture hall; any passerby could look in and see him. Or worse, come in and talk to him. His thoughts were humming between his ears, a cacophony of conflict, and he didn't think he could deal with an added voice. Slowly, hands shaking, he scooped up his pile of things, clutching it to his chest with one arm. The other extended towards Maka's letter, fingers skimming across it lightly. It felt like paper. There was no punishment for touching it. Gingerly, he picked it up, holding it like something made of fine crystal. Something that would shatter if he was too… too anything. Something precious.

Crona felt the need to be somewhere safe, somewhere private, but the first thing that came to mind wasn't going to work. He couldn't go to his room; Maka might've gone back to the apartment already. What if she didn't want to see him? And Crona knew in his gut that, until this was resolved, he didn't want to see her. He wouldn't be able to look at her, not without shattering his own heart. Fear climbed his throat, making it hard to breathe, and the trembling became more severe. Still, his feet carried him forward, moving on their own, taking him downward. His body knew what it needed, remembered the place. He had another room, after all.

The dungeon door was unlocked (of course it was; who else would they keep in such a place?) and he entered easily, settling himself at the desk. Afternoon light poured in, warm and golden, bathing the stone in orange. It was all so familiar. It wasn't a safe place; Eruka had found him here frequently enough, whenever he tried to avoid her by staying out of the alleyways. Just when he'd thought he could get away if he just stayed in the dungeon, she'd come to the window, violating the room with Medusa's orders. But other than that, this was a place where he'd been content. This was the bed where Maka had first sat with him, helping him with a crossword puzzle. This was the desk where he'd studied for his very first exam, sat quietly going over notes he'd taken in lecture like a normal person. This was the room where he'd _become_ a person. It was safe enough.

Moving his pile off to the side, he reached for the lamp, turning it on through force of habit. Fear still curled in his gut, but that was normal and he knew how to deal with it. He set the letter on the surface before him, balling his fists on either side of it and staring. Soul had told him that Maka had wrote this letter to be read, that she meant for him to know whatever secrets had been confessed in its contents. He had to have faith in her intention, act based on that rather than her order because it wasn't meant to be an order. More than that, he had to trust himself and make his own choices.

Soul had no idea how hard that was. Crona had never made a decision for himself before coming to the DWMA, and even then only because he couldn't stand being a tool anymore. It was tearing him apart. For the first time there was a "him" to be torn and that had given him resolve. Changed the essence of who he was, in his core. He could never go back to Lady Medusa, couldn't be the child she wanted, not anymore. Maka had done that. Like his mother before her, Maka had created him.

It was a sick comparison, he _knew_ that, but still… The circumstances of his genesis had left him deformed and he didn't know how to unlearn it. He needed Maka like he needed air and water and sunlight, and obedience was the only way he knew to ensure that need was met. Even now, Lady Medusa's words coiled around his heart, all the less refutable because he had no other points of reference. If he disobeyed she would abandon him and if she abandoned him he would die.

 _But do you really think Maka wants you to think of her like that? Do you think she wants to control you the way Lady Medusa did? Feed the hell inside your head?_

"No," he answered himself, biting his lower lip as tears welled up in his eyes. "No, Maka doesn't want to hurt me like that. Maka doesn't want me to be sad. But I can't help it. I don't know how else to deal with this."

 _You're not alone anymore. People care about your suffering. Or do you think they're lying? Do you think they want to see you get hurt?_

"No…"

 _Let's go back to Maka. Why do you think you want to compare her to Lady Medusa? Are they similar? Or is it that your feelings are similar? After all, you were very devoted to Lady Medusa, and not just because she controlled you, right? For so long she was everything to you, and now Maka's everything. It's completely different, but at the same time there's something similar in how you feel for both of them. What do you think that is?_

"Maka says she loves her mother…"

 _Do you love yours? Do you love Maka?_

"I… I pass."

 _But you were doing so well! Oh well, I guess that's a really hard question. Why don't we talk about the letter? Are you afraid that reading it will change things? But haven't they already changed? Do you really think you can keep going with all this guilt and uncertainty? Don't you need to know how she feels, one way or the other?_

"Maka will tell me what she wants me to know…"

 _Isn't that what this letter is? So why are you so afraid? She's already said you were special, she's already stood by you even when you betrayed her, she chose you over her duty and her career and saving the world. How many more assurances do you need? Or are you not afraid of Maka at all? Are you afraid of yourself? Of your body? It does strange things now, doesn't it? When you think about Maka's touch, it's not just in your mind anymore, right? But if that's the case, doesn't that make understanding her feelings all the more important? You need to figure this out. You need to move forward. You need to make a decision._

Crona uncurled his fingers, picked up the paper, and unfolded it.

 **Dear Crona,**

He put it back down, hands sweating, nausea churning in his stomach. There was no way he'd be able to do this; it was just impossible. And yet… Picking up the letter again with the very tips of his fingers, Crona pushed himself out of the chair. He moved to the back corner, behind the door, pressed his back into the stone, and slid into a huddle. Swallowing hard, he then propped his wrists on his knees, holding the paper just before his nose. No more running. No turning back. Steeling his will, forcing down the hurricane of voices in his mind, Crona tried again.

 **Dear Crona,**

 **Everyone thinks I'm so brave, but they're wrong. I'm proving them wrong right now, by writing this letter. You see, I did something bad, something awful and unforgivable, and even now I can barely own up to it. So it's not your fault that I've been distant; you haven't done anything wrong. It's me… It's all me. I'm a coward, Crona, and you're my victim. I have to tell you that first. I have to tell you that I'm sorry.**

 **Next I want to ask you to keep reading. That's going to be hard for you, I think, and I'm so, so sorry. But this is my confession and I need you to make it to the end.**

 **There's no good way to say this so I'm just going to do it. I was awake and I heard you and Ragnarok fight. You know when. I didn't mean to eavesdrop and I didn't know how to tell you I was listening. Everything started out so innocently. Now I know things I can't unknow, things I realize you wanted to keep private.**

His heart was beating so fast and hard he thought it was going to explode, his chest aching as certain death closed in around him. Oh god- _oh god!_ She knew. His feelings, his scars, his deformity, everything! No wonder she'd withdrawn! No wonder she wanted to get away from him! Who wouldn't recoil from a disgusting being like him? He'd known it was all a dream, and he'd dreamed it anyway. Now, everything was ruined.

 **Please keep reading Crona. It's not what you think, I swear!**

The words leapt off the page at him, like her hands cupping his face. Like sunlight cutting through his darkness. Shaking so badly he could barely hold the paper, he complied. Terror made it difficult.

 **I don't care about any of it. I don't care what's between your legs or what you did to your own body or if you're absolutely covered in corrosive pustules! None of that matters! None of that changes how I feel about you! Nothing in this world could make me not want to be with you. I didn't know how to tell you that so you would believe me, so I didn't say anything at all.**

 **Maybe if I had just let it be… But I didn't. I took advantage of you, Crona. I took advantage of your feelings for me, and I did things I wouldn't have done otherwise. We've always been close, ever since we became friends, and hearing that you wanted more than friendship made me wonder if maybe I did too. So I pushed, not because I was sure, but because I knew you wouldn't reject me. I figured I was giving you something you wanted, but commitment free. I acted just like my father, which is to say, despicable.**

 **And that's why I hid from you, that's why I'm writing you a letter instead of saying any of this to your face. Not because you're revolting in any way, but because I am. You're perfect, Crona. You're wonderful and I was afraid if you knew what I'd done, if you understood how I'd betrayed your trust on the most intimate level, that you'd hate me. But in avoiding the problem, I'm just letting my cowardice hurt you even more.**

 **I can't do it anymore. I can't keep seeing you, smiling, watching, looking at me like I'm some sort of saint when deep down I'm as terrible as they come. I can't keep pretending nothing's changed when it has and I can't keep lying about it to your face. But I can't keep myself away from you either. I know you don't need this right now just as much as I know I can't take it back. I know I deserve some kind of punishment, and if while you were reading this, you decided to hate me, you'd be perfectly justified. And yet the thought terrifies me. I don't know what to do.**

 **Fighting is easy. Life and death are easy. But the way you make me feel, especially knowing what I know now… It scares me. I don't have words for it. I don't have anything in my past experiences to compare it to. All I know is that kiss we shared was my first too, and in spite of everything, it felt right. You're special to me Crona and nothing will ever change that. If that specialness remains pure friendship, then I will consider myself truly privileged. If you want to try something more- I don't know how to say it! Romantic? Physical? Whatever it is to be close to someone in a way that isn't friendship; I'd be willing to try that too.**

 **This is so hard… Now I'm just writing words and filling the space, but I don't know how to say everything else. I don't know what you need to hear, or if you want to hear any more from me at all. I'm such a coward. First for writing you a stupid letter, now for not being there while you read it. But I can't. What if you don't want to see me? What if you realize how terribly I've betrayed you and hate me? What if the idea of being with me disgusts you? I can't stop thinking that…**

 **So I've decided to make you choose. I'm sorry; I do know better, yet I can't think of another way. For both of us. If you want to see me- if you want to talk or anything, then come to the park. I'll be waiting by the balcony that overlooks the city. If I don't see you before morning, then I'll drop it. We can pretend this never happened and try to go back to the way things were. It's your choice… but I… I want to see you Crona.**

 **I want to be with you.**

 **Maka**

* * *

"Marie, I'm home," Stein called, closing the door behind him and setting his briefcase on the floor.

"Welcome back!" Marie popped her head out from the kitchen, glowing. "How was your day? How are the kids?"

"I forget how complicated young love can be," he smirked, taking the back of her neck in one hand and planting a soft kiss in her hair. The smell permeated him, cascading through his body like the sensation of a cool drink on a hot day. He never realized how tense he was until he got home to Marie and she washed it all away.

"Oh, I don't. After the months of mixed messages I had to put up with from you, I'm permanently scarred."

"You can hardly blame me, Marie. You're the only woman in the world who thinks I'd make any sort of husband. Besides, my only source of romantic advice was and is Spirit."

Marie made a disgusted face, poking out her tongue for effect and causing Stein to chuckle. She stood on the tips of her toes and gave him a peck on the cheek before returning to the stove. Taking the hint, he followed her in, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and seating himself.

"So tell me," she pressed, adding some salt to the stew. "Whose romantic escapades have you been passively observing?"

"You could probably guess; they were here the other day."

"Really?!"

"You sound surprised. I thought for sure you of all people would've picked up on the signals."

"Of course I did. It's just that… well, Crona's so sensitive and Maka doesn't really seem like the domestic type."

"Knowing her parents, could you really blame her?"

"That is a good point. And I suppose "how to date" was not part of Crona's upbringing… Perhaps we should give them some tips the next time they're over, don't you think?"

"It's ironic, but we do seem to have the most functional relationship at the Academy. At any rate, it looks like they're trying to figure it out for themselves. You should've seen them today; it was like a scene out of some kind of romantic drama. It's clear neither of them is particularly focused on anything else at the moment, so I just told Crona to come by whenever he was ready and left. I'd rather not involve myself too deeply in the students' personal lives."

"Crona's coming by? Does that mean he was approved to help you with the research?"

"Yes, I got the go-ahead this morning-"

"That meeting was today!"

"Yes Marie. That's why I missed breakfast. Actually, you should be proud of me. I was quite the advocate for Crona and even reminded them all about his PTSD."

Stein paused, looking back into the living room, expression distant.

"I wouldn't have done that before. It would never have even occurred to me to defend someone, let alone consider their emotional state. Compassion is not in my nature."

Marie set down the ladle and came around behind Stein, sliding her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. Her touch was like a blanket, warm and comforting, and he could literally feel his gut untwist when she settled her chin in his hair.

"Maybe not," she whispered, gaze aligned with his. "But you're trying any you're learning. That's what counts and that's why I love you. I am proud, Mr. Franken Stein, and the more I see how you're working with Crona the prouder I become."

"Lord Death is allowing him to start reading Medusa's journals."

"That's going to be hard. Working with the Black Blood is one thing, but are we sure he's ready to read that woman's words? Does he really have to go through that?"

"He's going to need the background, and he might very well gain some insight that we're currently missing. It will be difficult, but I'm not terribly worried about that. What concerns me is the fact that we haven't made any progress tracking the witch that sent the centipede and yet Lord Death wants Crona to start collecting Kishin Eggs."

"He is a meister at the Academy, and a powerful one at that. I think it'll be good for him to go out and use his skills, don't you?"

"It's not that I don't think he's capable, or that his friends won't help. In fact, Maka has been able to pull him back from the Madness with relative ease thus far, and yet this witch's strategy still bothers me. If Crona looses control, even for a moment, the results could be devastating for both him and whatever town he happens to be near."

"If you're that worried, then I'll go with Crona on all his missions. I like to think we're close and I'm sure he wouldn't mind the extra coaching."

"That's not a bad idea, Marie," Stein smiled, taking one of her hands in his. "Your Healing Wavelength certainly saved me. Still, I would caution you. You never saw him like he was and, given the person he is now, even I struggle to connect the two. But the first night I met Crona he'd already killed sixty people and he wasn't going to stop. If Spirit and I hadn't been there, make no mistake, Maka and Soul would both be dead too. Fear is our most primal, most powerful emotion and in another life I have no doubt that Crona's fear could destroy the world."

"We're not going to let that happen." Her fingers tightened around his, her features hardening. "We are _never_ going to allow that to happen."


	9. Chapter 9

He stared at the words for a long time, or at least, for what felt like a long time. It was hard to say for certain, because time itself had lost all cohesion. Moments flowed back and forth, like waves on a beach, pushing and pulling, fast and slow, beating to the syncopated rhythm of his mind. Sometimes the thoughts were too much, blurring together into an intolerable roar, sometimes there was nothing but a buzz in the silence. The dissonance was… beyond his ability to deal with. An ocean of possibilities pierced by a single, uncertain certainty.

This couldn't be.

Crona read and reread, and though he knew in his core that he'd misunderstood, the words remained the same each time. Maka's letters provided a window to her process, whispering as much to him as the phrasing itself. He could see her, straight-backed at her desk, drafting and revising and, eventually, surrendering. At first each curve and line was perfect, as if she'd written that exact combination over and over until it was just right. The sound of her pen echoed in the back of his head, scratching, punctuated occasionally by paper being crumpled and discarded. Even so, the beginning sentences all started with a thick spot of ink, marks of hesitation as she considered the right way. Slowly the hesitation faded and the letters became misshapen, slanted and sharp, squished together. Her pace had quickened with her pulse, crescendoing to the final. The message was clear; it was just impossible.

"What should I do," he whispered, not truly registering that he'd said anything out loud. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Silence and stillness answered. His trembling breath caught in his throat, icy blue eyes widening as an idea he didn't know how to deal with began to take root in his stomach. It was wrong- a bad thought, so he resisted, reaching for the familiar like lines in a stormy sea.

"Ragnarok?"

Nothing.

"Ragnarok, please. I don't understand. I don't know what this means."

Emptiness. He didn't stir. Didn't hear or want to hear. As usual, unless he wanted something, the demon sword remained buried so deeply within Crona it was like he wasn't even there. Ignoring his pleas or maybe not hearing them at all. Desperation curled its cold fingers around Crona's ribs.

"L-Lady Medusa?"

The void where she used to be yawned out at him, engulfing him, swallowing him. Still, he tried.

"Lady Medusa, what do I need to do? Please? Please tell me what to do?"

Everything was so quiet inside his head. So quiet. Tears burned in his eyes and he squeezed his knees even tighter to his chest.

"Mother! Mother, please! Tell me, order me, make me, anything! Please, just this once. Help me."

Torchlight played across the stone walls. His lamp cast long, thin shadows onto the floor. Outside, the moon grinned and stared. But there was no sound, no voice or presence. Nobody. This total solitude, this state of isolation he had once fought so hard to maintain now threatened to consume him. He couldn't deal with it- couldn't be this alone.

"I don't know what to do…"

The bad thought shoved against him, fighting its way up his spine in a shiver. Angry for being repressed and frustrated by his unwillingness to acknowledge it, it battered against his scull. Echoing like a scream in a cave:

 _What do you_ _ **want**_ _to do?_ _ **What do you want?!**_

Her letters, the form of her last phrase scrawled across the paper. Sharp and rushed, poorly spaced an aligned as if the hand writing them had been trembling badly. His own desperation given form, the truth he couldn't allow himself to consider spelled out before his icy blue stare.

 **I want to be with you.**

* * *

Maka sat on the short, stone wall, her feet dangling into the abyss below. Goosebumps pricked her flesh in spite of her black coat, shivers trembling in her knotted stomach. Her emerald green eyes stared up into the sky, past the stars and grinning moon into a universe of her own creation. It had been hours, quantitatively, and eons inside her mind. She didn't know if Soul had retrieved her letter and was going to give it back to her once she got home. She didn't know if Crona had heeded her frantic commands and refused to read it. She didn't know if he'd understand the ramblings within. Right now, it seemed to Maka that she didn't know anything anymore.

She'd been so careful! Every move, every sentence, everything she'd done since that night had been planned. Optimized to prevent Crona from hurting anymore. And then it had all fallen apart, a house of cards scattering in the breeze. The look on his face as Soul had offered him her letter, the innocence in his tone as he'd asked if it was a poem. Hope making the dark edges of his horrible, misshapen, beautiful soul glow silver. For a fraction of a second, he'd felt happiness.

Then her fear ripped it away from him again. Sure, Crona would insist otherwise, but she knew better. Even without her soul perception, she would've known. Days spent drafting the damn thing, writing and rewriting until she couldn't think straight. Hours spent training alone, or crying, or literally banging her head on her desk looking for the right words. And finally, when it was done, fighting back the terror that it wasn't right just long enough to get it into the envelope and put it in her bag. All wasted. All slaughtered at the alter of her pride, along with the pink haired meister's fragile trust.

Maka had tried so hard to do this the right way… Instead she'd made it worse. In a lecture or a fight, she was near the top of her class; mistakes were rare and usually minor. Yet when it came to things like being a goddamn decent human being, she fell short. Because the right way was to just be upfront about it. The right way was to tell Crona what she'd heard and let him decide if he wanted anymore to do with her. The right way was to figure out her own feelings before playing with his. The right way was to be brave and that was the one thing Maka had failed to recognize in all her planning.

Now she was alone, freezing in the dry desert night. Weapon partner incensed, peers alienated, butt numb from sitting on the stone for too long, moon leering at her, and Crona- A little whimpering gasp caught in her throat, her hands balling into fists. If he'd read the letter he most assuredly hated her, or worse, had been broken by her betrayal. If he hadn't, then the breaking was still to come. Though she had the first part of her work memorized, Maka didn't remember much of the last third. Just that she was going to wait here until dawn. When he didn't come, she'd remove herself from his life. He was better off without friends who would use him for their benefit. He _deserved_ better, even if he didn't realize it.

She would fade away. Then they could be broken together.

"Maka?"

She started at the voice, turning so sharply she made herself dizzy. There, by the tree line, a tall, lean figure stood. City light competed with the moon to color his parchment-like skin, a gentle breeze catching his uneven hair and brushing the longer strands across his face. His eyes were wide and dark and unmistakable. It couldn't be, but it was.

"Crona…" The name just barely made it off her lips, escaping before her rib cage hardened with fear. He blinked back, nodding. But he didn't move towards her, keeping several paces between them. His expression was unreadable.

"I… I read your letter. Even though you told me not to. I read it anyway."

The force on her rib cage constricted, working its way up into her throat so she couldn't breathe. Her head was floating away, Crona's words coming to her from across an ocean of emotions she couldn't even begin to identify. A small squeak tried to get out of her body, but she didn't know if it succeeded. Her eyes were wide, shining in the moonlight, sparkling as she slid off the wall. She stood before him, trembling from cold and tension.

"I did it because… because I wanted to. Because I can't let myself be controlled by you. You're not angry, are you?"

"Angry?" Her mouth was so dry, the word came out incomprehensible. Perhaps she thought it loud enough for Crona to understand; his brow furrowed just a little, his head tilting.

"You're not angry that I disobeyed," he rephrased, voice soft and still somehow firm.

"No," Maka breathed, trying to shake her head. "No Crona, I'm not angry. I… I'm… I want you to make your own choices."

"That's what Soul said."

"Are you…" she trailed off, swallowing hard and closing her eyes. She couldn't look at him. "Are you angry?"

"Me? No... I don't understand. That night, when we were coming back from Professor Stein's, was that real? Did you mean it? Maka, please, I need to know."

"Of course I did." Her indignation overpowered the paralysis for a moment and she frowned at him.

"And the letter?"

"Every word." Her breath hitched and she looked away. The bulge in her throat was growing and she had to grit her teeth to keep it contained. A burning in her eyes made her voice sharp. "Is that why you came? To question my motives? To call me a liar? If you hate me that's fine! I get it! Just leave, don't rub it in!"

"No." There was a surprising lack of hurt in his tone, his softness reaching through the terror inside her. It tickled the edge of her soul, his fingers laced with hers. "No I… I don't mean any of that. I came because I wanted to. I came… to be with you Maka."

In an instant the pressure that had been compressing her body was gone, leaving her with the distinct sensation of floating in water. Her body felt like jello, her vision was all blurry, and all of a sudden she just couldn't anymore. With a soft, whimpering sigh, she gave in. Before she knew what she was doing or why, Maka had her face buried in Crona's chest and her fingers knotted in the black fabric of his robe as sobs wracked her body.

For a moment he just stood there, frozen by her unexpected response. The last time he'd seen Maka cry, he'd been bleeding out. This situation was completely different and she understood that. But her body wouldn't listen. No matter how much she ordered it to pull itself back together, it kept weeping. The more she told herself crying just made things worse, the more she cried. The more she cried, the tighter she clung to Crona. The tighter she clung, the stiffer he got. And yet, just when she'd almost mustered enough will power to push away, something changed. His shoulders unlocked, his soft, timid hands sliding around her, moving like wind over her black trench coat before settling. One arm curled around her waist, holding her securely against him. The other hand tucked her head under his chin before proceeding to stroke her hair. Soft. Rhythmic.

"Shhh. Shhh, don't cry," he said, his voice rumbling against her cheek. "It's alright now. It's all right, Little One. Shhh, don't cry."

"I was so afraid," she confessed, words muffled by his body. "I was so scared I was going to loose you! I was afraid you would hate me and leave and… and…"

"Of course I don't hate you. And I won't leave again. Not unless you ask me to. But Maka, the things you heard… Your letter says you don't care, but how could you know that? I don't understand… How can you want to be with someone like me? Some _thing_ like me. How can you _not_ care?"

"Because I don't. Crona, there is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing about you that could make me stop needing to be close to you. I don't care what Medusa or Ragnarok tried to tell you; they're the ones who're wrong."

His grip tightened around her and she could feel a breath get caught in his chest.

"You don't understand… you haven't seen it… I'm deformed, Maka. I'm broken. I'm not a boy, not a girl, not even a human."

"I know," she said softly, pulling away to look him in the face. Smiling at the shock in his dark eyes. "Do you remember when we met, that very first time? Do you remember how you knew I was a girl?"

"You have a girl's soul," he answered matter-of-factly, blinking. Uncurling her fists, she pressed her palms into his chest, looking inside him.

"I can see you're soul, just like you can see mine. We're connected like that. I've known since that first night that you're neither a boy nor a girl and that has nothing to do with your body. It's who you are and that's okay. Like a good friend of mine once said: the shape and form don't matter at all, it's only the soul that matters. You want to be with me and I want to be with you, isn't that enough?"

For a moment he just stared at her, lips parted, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. Carefully, as if she were made of glass, he removed his hand from her hair, reaching around to caress her cheek. Just the tips of his fingers brushed her skin like a whisper and he continued to stare.

"You're so bright," he breathed, letting his fingers rest a little near her ear. She took one hand and placed it over his, pressing her cheek into his palm. "I didn't think there was so much goodness in all the world. A pitch black being like me shouldn't be allowed so close to you. I don't deserve it."

Maka stood on the tips of her toes, bringing her mouth close to his so she could murmur across his lips: "I decide that."

* * *

In the distance, far past where either Crona or Maka could've seen, a lone figure stood in the night. She, however, could see them perfectly. The sand at her feet was like tar in the pale moonlight, and alive with dozens of squirming bodies. Long, thick, segmented bodies with legs that flashed red as they crawled over each other. Centipedes. _Her_ centipedes. Currently without purpose, they wandered over her bare feet, seeking attention and the opportunity to be useful. She paid them no mind, attention fixed on the two meisters to the exclusion of all else. Her expression was one of mild annoyance, her garnet eyes narrowing a little as she frowned. What an unfortunate turn of events.

The centipede whose eyes she was using scuttled over tree bark, climbing out along a branch to get a better vantage. Their interlaced fingers made her sick and, for a moment, she considered having her pet drop onto them. Crawl up into the girl's ear and scramble her brain the way she'd just scrambled the witch's plans. It was an amusing enough fantasy, but alas impractical. Meister's souls were too powerful for her to override, and this girl Maka had a strong soul indeed. Grigori. Interesting, but not nearly as captivating as the one beside her: Medusa's child. A creature designed to become a Kishin, with black blood that could harden and morph on command, a weapon fused into its body, and caged madness that could easily overwhelm most everyone in the city if properly… honed. She suspected there was magic within that blood too, but further experimentation would be necessary.

Experimentation that was now delayed. And she'd been making such progress! Crona barely even knew she'd been in its mind, exploring using venom injected through unnoticed bites. The rabbit in particular had been an intriguing find, one of many she hoped to uncover. All put on hold by the stability it had gained in choosing to be with Maka not as a servant, but as a partner. Yes, that made it stronger and thus even more attractive for her plans, but also more challenging to obtain. Her venom probably wouldn't work anymore, not without increasing compatibility with the Black Blood. Not without the ability to directly twist its soul.

Yes, this was quite the set back… but not a defeat. A small smile curved her lips and she raised one arm towards the city. There was a soft jingle from the brass bands around her wrist and the centipedes were off. Like a pool of oil they moved across the desert, disintegrating only when they reached the walls of Death City. Though made by magic, no individual was significant enough to betray their presence. They would roam the streets, watching, listening. Seeking out a suitable host to further the witch's plans. Crona wanted to learn more about itself, which meant exploring hard documents. Journals, data, notes, all things that got left in areas the Reaper believed to be secure. All available to her as well just as soon as she discovered where to look.


	10. Chapter 10

_Science is continuing to press forward when all you have done is fail. It's the art of extracting knowledge from the failure, distilling it, and starting anew. And then, in those brief, glorious flashes of success, it is the discipline of never becoming satisfied. Defying the gods is not simple, nor easy, nor quick. I knew this when I began 500 years ago, I knew it when subject after subject failed to survive madness, and I know it still. But just because an aspiration is not simple, easy, or quick does not make it impossible. This only means it requires patience, creativity… sacrifice. I will not surrender. I will not be beaten. I must, however, approach this goal from a new angle._

 _So I start fresh._

 _My objective remains the same: create a Kishin. However, since feeding those who have already become what Death's little students call Kishin Eggs has proven fruitless, I must reevaluate. What do I already know? What am I missing? To date there has only ever been one Kishin: Asura. A meister so consumed by paranoia he began hunting human souls in an attempt to gain power. He made his weapon partner Vajra a Demon Sword, increasing his power to be sure, but also feeding his inner insanity. Until the two could no longer resonate or trust one another. Until Asura made Vajra's madness his own._

 _I have thought much on this topic, returning again and again to the rumors, to the whispers, and to my own notes from the time. Perhaps this is what I have failed to consider, this act of consumption. One must be able to eat souls to become Kishin, yes; but it was Asura, not Vajra, who ascended into godhood. Why? Perhaps it is not the souls that make a Kishin, but the fear. Indeed, Asura was so afraid of death he turned his closest confidant into a monster and then ate him. It would make sense, given the fact that a Kishin is powered by the Madness of Fear._

 _This must be tested. I have obtained a variety of Demon Weapons and Meisters, including several that have yet to master their weapon form, for this purpose. The experiment will consist of four sections: physical torture, psychological torture, a control group which I will merely hold prisoner for the duration of the tests, and magical manipulation. My dear older sister was working on a way to enhance an individual's native madness through spells before her unfortunate fall. She guarded her notes carefully, so I have nothing but the idea from which to start. Nevertheless, it's an intriguing concept. Everyone has madness, but if I can aid in its domination over the soul with my magic, then my quest to create a Kishin may bare fruit._

 _For the purposes of this experiment, physical torture shall consist of extreme conditions such as low temperature, deprivation of basic needs, and non-lethal cutting while the subject is restrained. This should break down the body and incentivize the subject to give into their innate madness for the purpose of making the pain stop._

 _Psychological torture shall consist of sleep deprivation, the generation and maintenance of a state of terror, and the removal of any sense of self-worth. Here, the mind is under attack and the subjects will be taught to associate madness with relief and escape from the hell I shall create for them. I shall make their purpose abundantly clear._

 _My magical manipulation methods remain in development and thus cannot be defined as of yet. The first step with this group is, of course, building up their resistance to the sickness non-witches experience when exposed to continuous magic. Should I develop a one-time spell then this will become obsolete. Yet I do not believe that is a practical aspiration for my research. A powerful soul is necessary to create a Kishin, and a powerful soul will require constant… guidance. Something inside the subject, I think. If the subjects cannot survive minimal exposures to magic, then they will most assuredly perish once I perform the implantation. Documentation will be critical._

 _The control group will simply be held. Their basic needs will be met, but I shall not waste too much time with them. Perhaps the isolation of my sample chambers will be enough to drive them insane… Wouldn't that be nice._

 _Each group contains fifteen individuals with representatives from each age group, gender, socioeconomic standing, and overall mental state present in the bulk. The experiment will last five decades or until all subjects are dead. Whichever comes first. All data will be recorded in Data Book 1562. All relevant results, analyses, and conclusions, however, will be kept in the pages to follow. Organization is key; this project must not fail. I cannot start over again._

 _I refuse to start over again._

"Crona?"

The demon swordsman jumped, snapping the book closed and looking around franticly. Reality returned to focus as his icy blue eyes settled on a young man standing before him. Flawless suit, black hair with white stripes, golden eyes… Kid. He let out a small sigh, relieved that it was a friend and not some other entity that he wouldn't be able to deal with.

"Y-Yes?"

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" Kid slid his hands into his pocket and looked around, perplexed. The backside of the Academy building was often deserted, true, but it also lacked any sort of shade or seating or anything that might make it a pleasant reading location. Crona had made the most of it by tucking himself into a shallow corner, pulling his knees into his chest and pressing his elbows into his sides, but that didn't make it comfortable.

"I… um…"

"The masochist is reading his psycho mom's diary and doesn't want to get caught," Ragnarok laughed, bursting from Crona's back and settling in his hair. His tongue lolled grotesquely as he stared Kid down. "Probably the smartest thing he's ever done. There's some crazy shit in there, and this whole damn town is already taking bets on when he'll give up and let me eat them. I can only imagine what they would do if they knew he was studying up on a witch's research."

"Ragnarok!" Crona's eyes went wide and he looked cautiously up at Kid. Awaiting punishment. Kid shook his head, giving him a small smile and extending a hand.

"I see. Well, never mind all that. I think it's admirable how dedicated you are to your position as Professor Stein's new research assistant."

"Th-thank you," he breathed, accepting Kid's invitation and allowing himself to be pulled up, Lady Medusa's journal clutched to his chest. After a moment curiosity and a new found boldness got the better of him. He spoke, peering through his bangs. "Did you need me?"

"Yes, actually. But first, how well does your body handle subzero temperature?"

"Um… I don't like it, but the cold doesn't hurt me…"

"With me in his blood, Crona's a tank! Hey! Remember that time Medusa took us out in the winter? How all the little humans were falling all over themselves and shivering? 'P-p-p-pleas-s-s-s-e-e-e!' That was hilarious!"

"In any event," Kid cut him off, giving Ragnarok a reproachful look before returning his attention to the meister. "That's good. I've accepted a mission in Northern Greenland; a Kishin Egg that reportedly destroyed an entire town and has gone into hiding up there. I was hoping you'd accompany me."

"Me?!" Crona's voice cracked and he stepped back.

"Well yes. For one you're a very capable meister. My father thinks it's high time you begin collecting Kishin souls. There's also the fact that you and I are the most physically durable students at this Academy. You're the most rational choice."

"But I'm…"

"Shut up you wuss! The little reaper brat's offering you a chance to go hunting! If you don't go willingly I'll drag you myself!"

"Ragnarok, you will do no such thing. If Crona does not wish to go on missions that's his-"

"I'll go," Crona cut Kid off, batting Ragnarok's little white hands out of his hair and giving the reaper a hard look. "I can go. I want to go."

Kid smiled, pulling one hand out of his pocket to rest it on Crona's shoulder. The sword meister flinched, but settled quickly, even raising his eyes to meet Kid's golden gaze.

"You don't have to worry," Kid said in a low tone. "It's a routine mission; everything will go smoothly."

* * *

Crona gripped his arm tightly, blinking at the chaos surrounding him. Ms. Marie had insisted on joining them, citing the lovely landscape and climate. But she'd become lost on her way to the Deathport. And then she'd realized she'd packed for Iceland and not Greenland. And then she refused to accept that Crona didn't need protection from the cold and insisted on getting him a coat and snow boots. And now, as they stood in the snows of Qaanaaq Marie was in tears over the solemn fact that Crona could not fit into a child's winter jumpsuit.

Ragnarok was threatening terrible things if she didn't stop crying, Patty was laughing manically and running around with the little pants streaming like flags behind her, Liz was trying to find a way to put on a hat without messing up her hair, and Kid had abandoned them in a quest for snowmobiles. Oh well. The snow boots were warm. They came up a little higher on his calves than his usual shoes, brushing the near translucent skin there with a lining of black fur. Soft and comfortable. Much like Marie herself…

"Ms. Marie," he spoke up, cutting off Ragnarok's string of profanity. "Please don't be upset anymore."

"But Crona, look at you! It's so cold and you have nothing but your robe! I'm such a terrible, horrible person! I promised Franken I'd look after you on your mission and you're going to freeze to death first thing!"

"I already told you, you dumb cow," Ragnarok screamed, pulling at Crona's hair in frustration. "The Black Blood is better than regular blood in every way! The shrimp's fine! And I thought you said you wanted to be a tourist! What's this about watching us? Don't trust me to stop at the Kishin Egg? Maybe there's hope for you yet!"

"Ragnarok, be quiet now." The demon sword gave his meister's head a hard whack, but fell silent. Snow crunched under his feet as he moved to Marie's side, tentatively reaching out to her. "I really am okay Ms. Marie. Here, you can feel, if you like."

"I wanna feel!" Patty broke the stillness between them, plowing over and grasping Crona's finger. With a slightly crazed look, she swung around, using her whole body weight to lift the sword meister off the ground and toss him into a nearby snowdrift. "Yep! Nice and toasty! And light as a feather! No wonder he flies!"

"Patty," Liz scolded, surrendering to the inevitable and pulling her hat on. "Just because there's snow doesn't mean you can throw people into it! This isn't Brooklyn!"

"But he likes to fly! Don't you Crona?"

"Um… sure… I guess…" Crona mumbled, digging himself out.

"Bitch I'll rip your eyes out!" Ragnarok was less forgiving, pushing Crona's face into the snow so he could get closer to Patty, shaking his other little fist.

"Honestly," cried Kid, appearing from the white. "Can I not leave you alone for five-"

Both he and Crona froze, a chill much deeper than the ice slicing through them. The pink-haired meister dove, tackling Marie to the ground as Ragnarok reshaped out his back. His soul expanded, hardening like the Black Blood wings which domed around him, forming a shield of purple energy streaked with oil. Even so, the impact was painful. Thousands of ice crystals like a hail storm, condensed into a single moment and focused like a laser on the point where they'd been standing. Crona held Marie to his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin and pressing the shield outward. This pain was nothing to him, but her body was fragile, delicate beneath the layers of down and wool.

"Looks like we won't be needing those snowmobiles after all," Liz said, the disappointment in her voice still traveling just fine from her weapon form.

"Ha! Looks like she wants to play! Hey you! Get your own toys! These are mine!"

"Disgusting…"

Crona's wings unfurled and he looked up, blue eyes scanning for his friends. Kid was standing just outside the crater, pistols ready, face contorted in revulsion. A response to whatever had attacked them, he assumed. The one responsible for the ice. The Kishin Egg.

"Lu… Lu…LuLuLu… It's so cold… So cold…"

Marie snarled, getting to her feet and transforming her fist into a hammer. Her golden eye narrowed, peering through a sheet of honey hair that had come free in the ambush. She appeared unhurt, which gave Crona the strength to stand himself. Ragnarok melted back into his body as he turned, searching for the enemy. A stab of adrenaline pulsed through his blood. Their gazes locked.

"Come… Let me warm you… LuLu… LuLu… It's so cold here." Her flesh was blue, like centuries old ice, and encrusted with sharp, asymmetric crystals. They replaced her hair, pointing out of her scalp at a million odd angles, catching the light like prisms. No wonder Kid was upset…

"If you're so cold then let me send you to hell!" A barrage of pink lights sent the snow around her into the air, bringing Crona's attention back to their purpose.

"Ragnarok," he summoned, feeling a familiar ache as his blood slid through his skin. Sword in hand, he positioned himself between the Kishin Egg and the Death Scythe, a steel that was much less familiar hardening his words. "Please stand back, Miss Marie. I won't let her hurt you."

She opened her mouth to refuse the offer, an entire speech about her duty as a teacher to protect her students already dancing on her tongue. But something about Crona made her pause. He was…calm. Ragnarok glinted in his hand, the tip of his blade hovering just above the snow, voluptuous red lips grinning. The blackness of his blade coupled with Crona's robe made a stark contrast with the meister's flesh. There were no tremors, not even the slightest twitch, nothing to signal the child before her was even remotely concerned about his ice-monster opponent. Stein's voice whispered in her head: _let it happen, watch, see what he does_. Marie chided herself silently, annoyance squishing her face into a pout even as she returned her hand to its natural form.

"Thank you Crona," she said mildly, taking a step back. "I'll let you kids handle it then."

Crona gave a single, slow nod of acknowledgement, his focus still fixed on the Kishin Egg. Kid's bullets weren't working; her flesh was acting like armor, absorbing some and deflecting others all together. Her ice, on the other hand, was proving to be quite effective. She wasn't soft like a human. She wouldn't cut like one.

"Quit screwing around, would ya? If I miss out on that poor excuse for a soul, you won't be eating for a long time, you got it?!"

"Screech Alpha," Crona ordered, ignoring his partners oh-so-helpful pep talk. Ragnarok cut through the air, leaving an arc of purple energy that formed itself into a wall of blackness. Pure destructive intent blindsided the Kishin Egg, sending her stumbling and pulling her attention away from the Reaper. Her pain was evident, her crystalline matrix resonating in a scream of its own. The sound shattered the air, ringing inside their skulls even as Kid and Marie cupped their ears to block it. Not Crona though. He followed through, lunging at the places where the Kishin Egg should've been softest.

"Don't do that!" She grabbed Ragnarok by the blade, her hard flesh singing has the weapon continued to scream. But this time she'd braced herself for the contact, twisting the point away with a grimace. Crona was pulled off balance, stumbling and falling into her waiting arms. Her grip was like ice, so cold he could feel it burn his skin.

"Don't do that," she repeated, whispering into Crona's ear. "Stop, let me warm you like I warmed the others. I held them all, just like this, and sang… You'll see. It's better."

"Let go!" He tried to pull away, but she had both his arms pinned at his sides, and the pain was making it difficult to move. Marie, Kid, and Ragnarok were all shouting something, yelling at him, but he couldn't understand what or why. He couldn't hear over the panic burning in his head. "Let me-"

A dozen or so ellipsoid shards of ice exited her body and entered his. The Black Blood stopped them from going too deep, but the cold… like being flayed. Crona didn't even realize he was laughing…

 _The plate made a deafening clatter as it hit the floor, almost as deafening as the scream that was tearing at Soul's throat. He doubled over, grasping his chest and panting. His face screwed up as he waited for the agony to pass, his mind swirling with thoughts of snow and cold even as sweat from the desert heat trickled down his back. And then it was-_

"Hey you dumb shrimp snap out of it," Ragnarok chided. Crona blinked, his hands and knees pressed into the white. His chest looked like the Kishin Egg's pin cushion, but as assuredly as he felt the pain he sensed Ragnarok mobilizing his blood. Hardening around them. Pushing them out.

"We don't have time for this psychic crap! Get it together and kill her!"

"It's better," the Kishin Egg giggled, standing over him. "It only hurts for a little, then the pain is gone forever. It feels better, right?"

"You don't have to do this," Crona said in a hard voice, his focus realigning. He craned his neck to look up at her, expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. "You don't have to be like this! You can be different if you just stop!"

"I've already been different! I was different and they left me all alone in the cold!" Her voice cut like the wind. She leaned down, folding in half to bring her twisted face close to Crona's. The angle revealed a thin strip of soft, white flesh around her throat.

"They used me and left me to the ice. Now I am the ice and the ice hungers. I can smell that hunger on you."

"Please. It's not too late… Please don't make me stop you."

"Stop me? Don't be funny! Just because you can't see that it's better to feed… Just because you won't let me warm you… I will not go back. I will spread and I will kill and I will grow! LuLu, LuLu... LuLu… Lu-"

Ragnarok cut her off as he sliced through her windpipe, severing her spine and emerging on the other side. For a second Crona could see shock on her face, then her expression turned to nothing. Then her body followed, leaving but a red, floating orb. Without thinking he extended the sword towards the Kishin Soul, watched Ragnarok's teeth stretch outward, his tongue curl around the light. Felt nausea churn in his stomach, heard blood pulse through is head, gasped for breath that wouldn't come. He knew what was happening, remembered the sensation of it, but as his body absorbed the first soul in a very long time his mind just couldn't process. Heat flooded his blood and his ears were ringing and… and then it was just dark.


	11. Chapter 11

_Fear is at the heart of power. Fear fuels power. Fear_ _ **becomes**_ _power._

But I don't want power. I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?

 _Because you are afraid. Crona, my child, you must harness your fear. You must learn to wield it, grow stronger, and gain power. You must consume it or it will consume you. You must become Kishin or you will never be free._

I can't… I don't know how…

 _Don't worry; it will be all right. I am your mother Crona. I am the only one in this world that needs you. I am the only one who will ever care for you. As such I will guide you. It's simple, really. All you need are souls._

Souls?

 _Yes. Kill whatever stands before you and eat. Feed upon the souls of all who oppose you and let them in turn feed your power._

No… No, I can't. I can't kill anyone. I can't eat souls…

 _Why not? You've killed before. It's no different from your Little Ones. Kill. Eat. Grow. That is the order of things. That is what you were created to do. That is the only way you will ever master your fear._

But I don't want to!

 _You must! You will become a Kishin! Obstinate child, this is all the help I can give you. Should you choose to reject it… Listen closely Crona: learn my lesson or die. That is your choice. Make it quickly; I do not have the time to waste on one such as you._

Lady Medusa? Lady Medusa! Please don't go! Please don't make me do this!

"Well now, what might this be? It's small, yes, but it looks soft. Soft like the others. Tasty like the others, yes?"

A ten-year-old Crona stood trembling, his wide blue eyes trying to make sense of the beast before him. The general shape was human, arms, legs, a slightly elongated head. Even the hands with their long fingers looked human. But the soul… He had only just recently become able to see them, and even then just the colors. People in the world were blue, his mother was purple. This thing was red. It was no longer human. And it thought he looked tasty.

"Mother," he cried, stepping away from the creature, fingers curled tightly around Ragnarok's hilt.

"It cries for its mother. So did the others! They were delicious, even their screams."

"Come on Crona, do what she says! You know what'll happen if you don't and I'm not getting stuck with you starving for another week! Just get it over with."

"But I-"

"Suck it up!"

"Get it over with, get it over with he says. But why? When you go slow, you can watch it die. That makes the soul tender. Tender and sweet, sweet and tender."

The beast lunged, animalistic. Crona screamed, raising Ragnarok as if he were a shield rather than a sword, and the thing, the… the Kishin, took advantage. One hand pulled at Crona's wrist, casting the Demon Sword aside. The other curled around his tiny throat. He yelped in surprise, the familiar feeling of crushing surrounding his windpipe. Except this time it was a physical, squeezing pressure. Breath that smelled of copper, hot and moist on his face. Darkness whispering at the edge of his vision. Sound fading. He had to do something, something only he could do. What had she told him to do?

"Well what do you know, it is soft like the others. Will it _die_ like the others?"

 _The fear is in your blood, my child, the blood I created for you. Harness your fear. Let it make you stronger. Let it turn to Madness. Let the Madness consume you or die now._

"My- my blood-"

"What's this? Last words? Last words free the spirit, that's what they say."

"My blood… It's black."

Crona could feel it harden beneath his flesh, pushing outward, uncurling the beast's fingers. And more. All through his body hardness spread, seeping into his heart, twisting his mind. Everything was so funny. Giggles started in his chest, tearing at his throat with more force than the beast ever could. He pulled his legs up, leveling them under the Kishin and delivered a hard kick to its stomach. It fell back, releasing him and steadying itself on its hands and knees.

"My blood is black. But you didn't know that. I should've told you. Oh well, at least you'll know before you die."

He raised Ragnarok into the air, smiling manically. She was right, she was right about everything. This was better, the Madness made him stronger. He should use it. He should listen to his mother. He should kill this creature and eat its soul.

 _ **Wait**_ a voice inside him said. _**A killer? Is that what I am? Is this what I want to be?**_

Crona froze, the laughter dying on his lips as the Madness left him just as abruptly as it had come. The beast saw his chance springing up and kneeing him in the face, sending the swordsman flying back. His back hit the wall, his Black Blood preventing any major injury but not the wind from leaving his lungs. In an instant the Kishin was on him again, fingers around his neck, pinning him to the wall. The fingers of Crona's white hand found what he felt was a door handle. Maybe a window latch? Weakly, he grasped at it, looking for a third option, an escape. His attacker laughed in his face, the bloodlust in his eyes hot and palpable.

"Silly child. That's locked. You really should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"Do it Crona," screamed Ragnarok. "Do it now!"

He gripped the sword hand tightly, his mind devoid of consequences, of morality, of everything but the singular need to survive. And swung.

It was over faster than he thought it would be. Cleaner, not like the little one. The Kishin didn't even scream; it was dead far to quickly. Its body simply vanished, leaving behind a singular, glowing red orb. Scales decorated its surface and a little wisp of plasma like a flame danced at its surface. Crona slid into a huddle before it, shaking violently.

 _Very good Crona_ , came his mother's voice. She cooed inside his head, her false honey all the more terrifying.

"I-I killed it," he stammered as Ragnarok melted back into his blood.

 _Yes. You're such an obedient child. Now finish it. Eat the soul. Take its power and add it to your own. You must understand now, this is the only way you can become stronger and conquer the fear inside you._

"I killed it…" Crona repeated, shock giving way to panic. He pressed himself back, against the wall and away from the soul, squirming as the reality of the situation began to sink in. "I c-can't deal w-w-with killing! I d-don't want-t p-power. N-not like th-this."

 _This is the only way_. _Do not be difficult Crona, it accomplishes nothing. Eat the soul now. Ragnarok!_

The weapon responded to her instantly, bursting from between Crona's shoulder blades and leaning over his head.

"No Ragnarok!" But it was too late. The weapon's long red tongue coiled around the red orb, pulling it in, past his teeth and into Crona's blood stream. The effect was instantaneous. A rush unlike any other, pure, blinding, destructive heat. Too much heat. His blood was boiling, his throat was screaming, his head was exploding.

* * *

Crona sucked in air as if emerging from under water, sitting bolt upright. Fear kept his eyes from focusing and the heat that still burned inside him ignited a fresh wave of panic. Dissonance rang in his brain, a million thoughts and feelings blurring past from present and all he knew was that he'd done it again. For the first time in a long time, he had eaten a Kishin-type soul. The slime of it still coated his throat, the taste like metal, even though it had been hours since Ragnarok had consumed the damn thing. It made him feel sick and terrified and exhilarated.

"Hey! Hey, shhh, it's okay, you're safe now. Crona, look at me." A voice… it sounded like it was from far away, even though the noise was right by his side. A hand on his, fingers curled around his palm. Something warm in his soul, grounding him. Slowly, his spiraling thoughts settled and he turned. Pale blue eyes met brilliant green. Calm wasn't the right word, fear still held his heart in a painful vice, but reason returned to his mind. He knew where he was.

"Maka," he said, stating the name as if to answer a question. She smiled, reaching up to brush the backs of her fingers along his cheek. "When did- How long was I-"

"Oh Crona! Thank goodness you're awake! I was so worried! This is all my fault, I should never have let you fight that monster alone!"

Before he knew it arms were around him, pressing his head into a powerful, perhaps even a little painful, embrace. Blond hair fell like a curtain around his field of vision, obstructing his view of the infirmary.

"Miss Marie," he mumbled, hands reaching blindly to return her embrace. Or to pry her off. He wasn't sure which. "I'm alright, really. Please don't be upset."

"You collapsed during your mission." Nygus's voice and the sound of papers being flipped back and forth. "Everything's in order now, but you gave us all a good scare. Any idea what happened?"

"It's all my fault! I was supposed to be watching over him and instead I let this happen!" Tears began to wet the top of Crona's hair. He froze, unable to process Miss Marie crying over him. Perhaps mercifully, Ragnarok chose that moment to emerge. There was a brief but noisy skirmish as he displaced Marie and settled on top of Crona's head.

"Quit your fussing, the shrimp's fine," he snapped, pulling on one of Crona's ears as if the subsequent wince was proof of his wellbeing. "He used to do this all the time. The red souls are hard to stomach and someone as pathetic as Crona can't handle them."

"Only because I'm not used to it yet," Crona mumbled defensively. "It'll get better, like before."

"Before." He jumped at the sound of Stein's voice, turning sharply towards the door. The professor was leaning on the wall, expressionless and smoking. Beside him stood Kid. His arms were crossed and it was difficult to tell if his features were concerned or suspicious. The pink haired meister wilted under their critical gaze, forcing Ragnarok to answer.

"Medusa started us on Kishin souls, same as you. We just got to graduate to human. You should try them sometime, they're much sweeter."

He addressed the comment to someone standing in the corner behind Maka. Crona could feel him now, silent and staring. Crimson gaze piercing, like a burning beam of concentrated light at his back. Cautious.

"I see," said Professor Stein, ignoring the last comment and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Any reason you didn't mention this could happen?"

"I didn't think it could. I-I was just a child before... Now… It's been so long I- I f-forgot what it feels like…"

"Crona," scolded Marie, face wrinkled in concern. "If hunting Kishin Eggs is going to be detrimental to your health-"

"Mr. Fragile Snowflake here has probably eaten more souls than you have. I should know because I'm the one who does the eating! He just can't handle the rush, but he'll get over it. Always does, right Crona?"

Crona flushed deeply, curling inward and suddenly wishing everything would just go away. Maka grabbed his hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Her sharp eyes darted up towards the weapon, face singularly disapproving. He stuck his tongue out, running it over his massive teeth meaningfully. Which, of course, made everything worse. Nygus broke the stalemate, checking his chart one more time.

"Well all his vitals are normal now and, truth be told, he was physically fine when he came in. Perhaps it is just a matter of being overwhelmed. Crona is a very unique meister, perhaps he can feel the power increase that accompanies soul eating."

"I-I'm so s-s-sorry. I-I-I d-didn't mean t-to cause trouble."

"You didn't," said Maka in a voice that left no room for argument. He looked at her again, uncertain nonetheless. She pulled another gloved hand from her lap to clasp Crona's. "We're all really glad you're okay."

"Alright everyone, that's enough. You're upsetting my patient. Come on, out."

Nodding his head solemnly, Kid gave Crona one more silent, appraising look. Then he turned, opened the door, and exited without a word. Stein blew a stream of smoke out the side of his mouth, put out his cigarette, and grabbed Marie by the hand. She was still making offers of comfort as he all but dragged her out. Maka and Soul didn't move, which did not go unnoticed.

"That includes you two," Nygus said, pointing as if they didn't know where the exit was.

"Are you going to keep him overnight," Maka cut in, giving Nygus a half piercing half pleading look. "We can look after him at home."

" _If_ he's still doing well this evening," she answered slowly. "Then you can take him home. But in the meantime he should rest so off with you."

"I-" Crona choked on his words. "I'd like them to stay. If that's alright."

"I understand, but your friends are distractions. If you did collapse from some exhaustion, then you need to focus on resting. You'll see them again in a couple hours."

Soul was the first to move, coming up behind Maka and putting a hand on her shoulder. She sighed heavily through her nose, hard features working as she came to terms with being thrown out. Crona gave her a wide-eyed look, as if waiting for her to make a move. Continue to fight the medical expert in the room or resign to the inevitable. Gingerly, she slid one hand around the back of Crona's neck, tilting his head forward so his forehead pressed against hers.

"We'll be back soon," she whispered. Crona deflated a little, but nodded.

Their fingers remained entwined until the last second, their gazes locked. There was something there, something he wasn't telling the others or perhaps didn't know himself. But now was not the time. Reluctantly, she followed Soul out into the hallway… where Kid was waiting for them. He closed the door quietly, then motioned the pair down the hall. The three traveled in silence until Kid was reasonably sure they wouldn't be overheard.

"How is he," he asked, looking at Maka. As if she knew better than anyone else.

"I… I don't know. He seems fine, but I get the feeling something happened out there."

"What went down, Kid," Soul interjected, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "What weren't you saying back there?"

"Perceptive as ever. Very well, I'll tell you what I told my father and Professor Stein when we first got back and Miss Marie was taking Crona to the infirmary. But it stays between us, is that clear?"

"Yes, sure, it's clear. Now what is it?"

"The collapsing wasn't the only incident Crona had earlier. Before, when the Kishin Egg had him pinned, his Madness resurfaced."

"How could you say something like that! You can't know!"

"Maka, the Kishin buried about a hundred needles made of ice into his chest and he laughed about it."

Her lips tightened across a scathing comment she knew she was going to regret, fingers balled. But before she could loose her cool entirely her partner stepped in.

"We, uh, we kinda knew that had happened."

"Really. I would be fascinated to learn how."

"Crona and I… I have Black Blood because of him. We haven't talked about it yet, but I sort of know when bad things happen to him. Like he's upset or something. This time, I don't know man, it was like I felt what he was feeling."

"Which was," Kid probed, golden eyes unreadable.

"It freakin' hurt. There was pain and fear and…" Soul hesitated, rolling his neck and licking his lips. Maka grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. Her gaze was a demand he couldn't refuse. "And insanity. For just a second, he felt that loss of boarders and that should worry us."

"It was the middle of battle! Everyone gets a little heated-"

"It was Madness Maka. Don't stand there and tell me I don't know what that feels like."

"But he came back. He's back and everything's fine. We'll just be more careful."

"Maka," said Kid diplomatically. "Maybe he's just not ready yet. Or maybe it's too big a risk altogether. If all it's going to take is a little push, do you really think Crona wants to be out there anyway?"

"It's a moot point, isn't it," she snapped. "You've all already decided, haven't you."

"It's not what you think; the situation hasn't changed. No solo missions and a Death Scythe will be in attendance. But if this is going to keep happening-"

"It won't." She said it like a fact, with so much will and conviction Kid almost believed her. If the haunting sounds of Crona's laughter hadn't still been ringing in his head, he would've. Still, for the sake of friendship, he smiled, nodding.

"Alright," he conceded. "If you say so."

* * *

The girl let out a whimper, weaker than the ones preceding it, giving her bonds another hopeless tug. At first she'd tried, yelling through the gag, rubbing her wrists raw on the ropes, throwing her weight back and forth to try and knock over the chair. Anything and everything she could think of. For nothing… It felt like an eternity since she'd given up. Resigned herself to the silence, despite her brave front.

"Are you finally ready?"

She jerked at the voice, coal black hair falling over her face. Desperately, she tried to shake it off, head thrashing from side to side as she attempted to locate the speaker. But she couldn't see past the ring of light. The world was just a black void near as she could tell. How long had she been there?

"Hmm, perhaps not… Nevertheless, we must move forward. How do you feel?"

"I feel sick," she answered without thinking. The gag was choking her and still she answered. No sooner had the words formed, she realized they were true. Her gut felt full of cold worms, squirming and churning. Her entire body ached and she was shaking. When had that started?

"I see. Unfortunately that's not going away. Don't worry though; if this works, then very soon you won't care."

"What's happening? What are you doing to me?"

"You're going to help me. I'm afraid it won't be very pleasant for you, but remember, you volunteered."

Had she? A memory like the glint of water flickered in her mind's eye. A centipede on the wall. Some woman in the dessert, garnet eyes and bare feet.

"Why?"

"So your memories are compromised, are they? Interesting. You'll need them to reenter the city. Think hard. You're here to help me gain control of the meister called Crona."

"Black blooded freak!" It was instinctual, primal hatred making a putrid mixture in her stomach.

"Exactly. You can still see it flying over the city, an army of witches at its back. The one leading the invasion. The reason you're home was destroyed."

"There was no warning. I was out with friends when the explosions started. I could see our apartment complex. I watched it collapse. My parents were in there. They never stood a chance."

"Crona is a creature made to destroy. It has no other purpose, no choice. But it thinks it does. Returning it to this path would cause the greatest suffering. Which is what you want, correct?"

She didn't answer. Her breath froze in her chest, eyes going wide as the settled on something near her feet. A centipede, long and black and glinting, was coming towards her. Fear made her pulse race faster, pounding in her chest as she began to sweat. A scream tore her throat as the thing began to crawl up her leg.

"Let me go! Let me go, please!"

"I can't do that. I need you rather desperately if I'm being honest. You see, I can't enter Death City. So I need you to do it for me."

"No… No, I don't want to!"

The centipede was crawling up her arm now, clinging tightly to the fabric of her shirt. It moved deliberately, totally unhindered by her continual attempts to dislodge it. She could feel its antenna on her neck.

"There are several things I need you to do, of course. I'll let you know what those are. Don't resist, it'll only hurt for a second. Then none of this will seem so extraordinary. Patience."

The insect was at her ear. There was a moment of suspended horror when she realized what was about to happen. Then it dove in, burrowing down her ear canal, sending venomous magic directly into her brain. Slowly, she stopped screaming, then moving, then finally, she stopped thinking. The silence was inside her head now, devoid of direction or intention. But the sounds of soft laughter heralded that it wouldn't stay that way for long.


	12. Chapter 12

_They say research is just a string of failure, and in my experience this has been true. But it vexes me nonetheless. My experiments have yielded nothing but disappointment. Decades of work for so little return. The subjects are not durable enough. Even in the few cases where I could induce Madness (primarily via magical manipulation, though promising candidates also arose from the psychological torture section) ultimately proved non-viable. They either died before even getting close to realizing their potential as Kishin, or became uncontrollable and had to be terminated._

 _However, not all is in vain. I did collect some preliminary results, enough to make the next step feasible. Weapons, being the consumer of souls, are more susceptible to Madness. The innocence of a human soul easily tips into addiction, and the hunger drives them insane. Yet these were also the least stable of my subjects, fragile, prone to burning out before they could become useful. The meisters proved superior candidates in this respect. Yet pushing a meister into Madness is a more significant challenge than was originally anticipated. The most exciting results required a constant stream of magic, continual manipulation of the mind, and an almost impossible metamorphosis of the soul. The meister, essentially, had to be made into a weapon._

 _This confirms my original theory that a fusion of weapon and meister is necessary to create a Kishin. Additionally, the subject must be sturdier than either. More… resilient. Asura was Death's peer, so this isn't altogether surprising. However this posits a truly harrowing challenge: to make a creature that does not yet exist. Neither meister nor weapon will work; they flame to bright and quickly. A witch is also out of the question as we develop along a different path._

 _There is also the problem of constant magical manipulation. Magic is energy and will short out a material that is not sufficiently conductive. Another problem with the currently available options. I must create something that can impart a witch's tolerance to magic to something else entirely. The material must also lead to a net strengthening of the tissues._

 _To this effect, I've begun working on a project I've labeled "Black Blood." It is as it sounds: blood into which I shall attempt to incorporate carbon nanotubes, rendering a black color. The graphitic type carbon not only possesses thermal and electrical conductivity, but is also among the strongest materials known. If I can modify it to respond to a soul wavelength, to come in and out of order on command, I should be able to generate a body capable of withstanding the rigors of becoming Kishin. Hopefully the nanotubes will also be able to handle magical energy. The trick will be in the expression. Blood cells clear much too quickly, and an organism with only a finite supply of blood is simply not feasible. I'll need to tweak the genetics so it generates its own. Perhaps something in the erythropoietin? Or if all else fails I can incorporate something into the diet that encourages differentiation into Black Blood. A non-ideal solution, but doable. Decades of work remain, but I believe I have a plan._

* * *

 _At last some success. The Black Blood is a marvel, a true achievement of science. It not only hardens on command, becoming near impenetrable, but also imbues the subject with considerable strength and durability. Regular feeding is not required, there is a resistance to extreme temperatures, and the immune response is so powerful sickness is all but impossible. The blood translates energy from the soul wavelength directly into what can only be described as physical prowess. Subjects are almost invincible and can only be terminated through less... brutal means. Asphyxiation, drowning, and so on. There is some drug resistance, but with a high enough dosage the effects still occur._

 _Unfortunately animal studies have also reveled an inherent… is there a way I can put this delicately? I cannot control the subjects. Within a few years they grow bold enough to challenge me, several have even attempted to kill me outright. The only success I've had on this front has been with my own snakes, but this isn't a long-term option. My snakes lack souls and thus cannot utilize the Black Blood. As a safety measure, I have added a kill switch. In response to my soul wavelength the blood will cease to respond to any stimuli for several hours, allowing more conventional termination of those subjects that become problematic._

 _There is an additional problem, one that I do not yet fully understand. When over stimulated the blood can reject its host. Or it could be the other way around. Near as I can tell, there exists a limit to the abilities the blood can render. Past this the system overloads. This presents as needle like protrusions from the host's body. I should also note an instance in one of the human trials in which the child's, for lack of a better word, morality resurfaced during testing. This was one from the transfusion group and it did not survive the rejection. Actually, none of the human subjects survived. They were either terminated or died as a result of magical exposure._

 _My most promising subject is the so-called Demon Sword. I procured him from Death's vaults at great risk, but the transfusion has taken quite well. The subject already had an apatite for human souls, so that has been a non-issue. Unfortunately he is rebellious and entirely uninterested in becoming Kishin, making him extremely difficult to control. My best solution is to keep him stored in a molten state, homogenized with the Blood but unable to take any sort of action. As a weapon, he was never a final candidate, but having a sword in the form of blood posits an interesting mechanism of hybridizing meister and weapon. Alas, there is only one Demon Sword, so this must wait until I have my candidate._

 _There must be some connection to me, something I can use to exert the most absolute control. And it has become clear that a witch's blood is necessary to tolerate the amount of magic I will require to manipulate an individual into becoming a Kishin. Alas, I see only one option: I must create my own child. Not in the conventional sense, of course. The amount of engineering will be far too significant for such things, and the Black Blood must be implemented at the earliest possible stage of development. But I shall use primarily my own genetics with minimal editing and additions, just enough to make sure this child is a meister. It will remain, however, a creature of my flesh. My flesh and my blood. My child. I shall need to be careful._

"Crona! Put down that musty old book and behold the greatness that is Black Star!"

Crona jumped, snapping the journal closed and looking around. His gaze settled on the aforementioned blue haired meister, who was currently occupying himself with a rather peculiar task. Near as Crona could tell, Black Star wanted praise for the little stack of empty cups he had assembled. He was certainly looking at it with a great deal of pride, causing the air around him to almost visibly shimmer. Soul chuckled a little, giving Crona a 'what are you gonna do' grin from across the table. Next to him, Tsubaki laughed awkwardly and began to coax Black Star off the table. Maka rolled her eyes, scooting a little closer to Crona so their hips touched.

"Oh… I-uh- it's very nice," he tried, flustered by the sudden attention. A deep blush rose from his collar, even though rationally he knew the other Deathbucks patrons were looking at Black Star, not him. The other meister huffed, folding his arms and looking unimpressed.

"You don't seem to realize the awesome presence you're in. What are you even reading? Nothing could be more interesting than me."

"They're…" Should he tell them? Swallowing hard, Crona reasoned that his friends at least should know. "They're my mother's journals."

"Like what, her diary? Isn't that a little creepy?"

"Black Star!" Tsubaki exclaimed, mortified.

Now Crona was blushing in earnest, shrinking back into the cushions even as Maka grasped his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Medusa's research journals, you moron," she chided. "Crona _is_ Professor Stein's research assistant, remember?"

"How is that going, Crona?" Tsubaki took the opportunity, swiftly diverting the conversation and pulling Black Star back into his chair simultaneously.

"We- um- I was supposed to finish this first. But I'm on the last entry. Then we can start really experimenting."

"You sound excited," commented Soul, his smile shadowed.

"I think I am… I was never told how my blood works, but now I think I would like to know. I'm… looking forward to learning."

"I'm happy for you Crona." Her voice was so soft and earnest, perhaps even more so than usual. He looked across the table at her, a little taken aback by the tenderness in Tsubaki's gaze. And something else… pride maybe? It was almost like the way Marie looked at him...

"Th-thank you," he stuttered, blushing a little.

"You seriously haven't done any actual science yet," pressed Black Star, tilting his head. "Why does Professor Stein have you reading dumb journals, shouldn't you be, like, cutting something open?"

Crona shuddered. _His blade slid through her throat, the only soft place left in her body. In one side and out the other. Blood sprayed, but evaporated before it could stain the snow. If nothing else, soul hunting was a clean process. Not like the Little Ones._

"Do you even pay attention in lecture? Reading is half of science." Maka's voice, scolding, pulling him back. He shifted uncomfortably, looking away from the group. Lest his composure slip.

"Why listen when you already know everything? Don't you realize you're in the presence of the biggest star? I don't have to listen to anyone!" There it was, the familiar overconfident laugh and the wash of a powerful soul gloating. Everything was fine; this was all just friends talking.

"Actually," Crona tried, pulling himself back from the recesses of his mind. "We are working on one experiment…"

"Really," coaxed Tsubaki, smiling as she pulled Black Star once again into his chair. He huffed, but yielded to her touch. "That's wonderful."

"Care to share," added Soul, smiling more earnestly. Crona blinked at him, unsure of what he and Tsubaki were attempting to do. But if they really wanted to know, then it would be best to tell them. That's what friends do.

"We're, umm, looking at how my blood responds to soul wavelengths. Because I can control it."

"How is the experiment set up," asked Maka, turning a little to face Crona. Matters of the soul interested her and his work evoked an undeniable curiosity.

"Professor Stein developed a chamber to control the amplitude of a soul wavelength and direct it down towards a target. I can control the Black Blood, even outside of my body, so I try to hold it together while Stein shoots his wavelength at it."

"But what are you measuring?"

This part made him a little uncomfortable. Somehow, though, the science of it all made it easier. Like reading Lady Medusa's notes was easier. He could disconnect.

"The Blood releases Madness when attacked. We measure the intensity as it correlates to the power of a soul wavelength."

"Look at you using big fancy words," said Black Star, nodding his approval. "I told you he was some kind of genius. Just remember, I'm the one who'll surpass God!"

"You're working with Madness? Are you sure that's a good idea?" The concern in Soul's voice cut through his enthusiasm, causing Crona to visibly flinch. But at the same time he felt a flare of indignation.

"M-m-madness is a part of the Black Blood. We h-have t-to study it."

"What about different types of wavelengths," Maka diverted, giving Soul a reprimanding look as her fingers found Crona's. Protective. He paused for a moment.

"I was… I wonder about that too. Professor Stein… he has Madness in his soul. Like me. But there are other types of souls… And specialized ones."

"You're sure the Madness is contained?"

"Come on Soul, don't be such a pessimist!"

"Don't you worry, Crona! I will come to your aid! A star as big as me? My soul wavelength will obliterate everything in its path!"

A sort of whimper came from Tsubaki's general direction as the words left Black Star's mouth. As if his lack of tack actually hurt her. Both Maka and Soul gave him a 'really?' sort of look and Crona… Crona couldn't decide if he was hurt or interested. On the one hand that was his blood being obliterated, but on the other, he wanted to know. He felt not for the first time this intense thirst for knowledge. The drive to experiment, to understand, to see what would happen.

 _That's right Crona, that's very good. You can feel it inside you. You're starting to realize your hunger. It's The Pull. Give in. Tell me what you fear._

Whispers like goosebumps skittered across his mind. He tensed, pupils dilating as an all too familiar sensation of cold began to rise inside him. No, not now, not here. The voice, it felt so familiar, so at home within him, and yet there was something different. A weak shadow of Medusa's will. An inept user pulling at the threads of his insanity. Maka felt him go rigid, felt the dryness touch his soul. She grabbed his chin with her free hand, turning his face towards hers. But he wouldn't meet her gaze. Shame burnt in his blush.

"Hey Crona," Soul broke the silence, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'm feeling another coffee, you want one?"

"I…" He didn't really like coffee; it made him jittery. Yet something told him this was more of an invitation to escape the group for a moment. Gratefully, he nodded. "Sure."

"Nice going," Maka hissed disapprovingly after the two were out of earshot.

"What?"

Black Star: the most oblivious star in the universe.

For a long moment Soul and Crona stood in the line, staring at the menu even though neither had much intention of buying a beverage. Then Soul grabbed Crona by the elbow, just below where he was grasping his own arm, and pulled him aside. The pink haired meister blinked, frowning a little in surprise as he allowed himself to be led into a vacant corner. Something unsaid sat between them.

"Sorry about that," Soul apologized, rubbing his white hair. "Black Star can be a bit of a dunce."

"Is that-" his voice got caught. He felt uncomfortable. Still, the something was there. "Is that what you wanted to say to me?"

Soul grinned, showing his sharp teeth. Perceptive. Slowly, he gave his head a little shake. Crona swallowed, searching for what the thing could be. How long it had been there.

"No, it's not. There was something just now… I don't know. I felt like you needed to get away. Everything alright?"

Crona didn't answer for a long moment, and even then it was a non-answer. Both evasive and direct.

"You're acting different," he said, quiet, chin tucked towards his chest like armor. In case he was wrong. "Since… I went on the mission with Kid."

"He told us that you, uh, had another slip," Soul confessed. Suddenly, he doubted this was a good idea. Inhaling deeply, he readjusted his headband.

"It's more." There went the opportunity to back out. Crimson eyes locked with pale blue. Inescapable. "You knew, didn't you. You always know."

"Yeah…"

"Because of this," Crona continued, hushed but urgent. He pressed his fingers to Soul's chest, where the thick, stitched scar marred his flesh. From shoulder to hip. He took in a shaking breath. "Because I did this to you."

Everything fell away and, for a second, it was just the two of them. Tucked away in a secluded space, alone in the world. There, he'd said it. For the first time since they'd known each other, he'd confessed. **I did this**.

"It wasn't you," Soul breathed. "It wasn't your fault, it wasn't Maka's fault, it just happened. I don't blame you."

"You'll never get away from it. You'll never get away from me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could take it all back."

"It's a part of me now," he shrugged, pulling back from Crona. "Listen, I know you're all jazzed about this work with Stein, but you need to be careful. Don't mess around with the Madness."

"But I have to. I want it gone and I can't do that if I don't understand how it works. How Lady Medusa… I need to know."

"Yeah, I get it. Just be careful, okay? Don't jump into anything, and don't let Stein push you. Like you said, dude's got some Madness of his own."

Crona nodded slowly. For another moment the two just stood there, staring at each other. Black Blood seething inside them.

* * *

It felt good to be with Crona. Not just physically, though she loved the feeling of his hand in hers. It felt good to be so open about it, so free to touch whenever they wanted. Of course, there hadn't ever really been restrictions before. At least, none from her friends or society. In fact, they'd not only been supportive of her's and Crona's new relationship, but most had confessed to assuming they were already romantic. What with all the holding and snuggling they'd been doing since the Kishin's defeat. But in her own mind there had been a barrier. It felt good to be rid of it.

On an impulse she stopped, stepping around so quickly Crona literally ran into her. He stumbled a little, giving her a quizzical look. Maka smiled back playfully, standing on her tiptoes and placing a light kiss on his nose. God it felt good to do that. When he didn't pull away she gave him another one. Then a third. On the forth one he tilted his head, causing their lips to meet. She giggled, maneuvering to make the kiss more comfortable. Crona pulled back, smiling but looking very confused.

"Why did you do that," he asked innocently.

"Because I wanted to." Short and to the point. She gave him another peck, then turned to continue, dragging the sword meister behind her. Happiness made a warm bubble in her stomach, her flesh tingling where it had met Crona's. Why, she wondered, had they waited so long for something this wonderful?

"Hey Maka…" Crona's voice sounded suddenly very meek, so much so that it made Maka pause. She looked back at him, one pigtail sliding over her shoulder. He'd stopped, fingers still laced with hers, but his gaze was downcast. He was blushing. "How long to you think Soul and the others will stay at the coffee shop?"

"Oh, a while," she answered offhandedly, giving a little shrug. "They'll probably head back to Black Star's place to game."

"Oh… okay…"

"Why do you ask?"

"I, um, was w-wondering…" He was flushed now, his thumb rubbing nervously across her skin. Maka stepped back to his side, trying to catch his eyes. They shifted, as if meeting her gaze would cause his courage to falter.

"Crona," she tried tenderly. "What is it? You can ask me anything, you know that right?"

"I do! I do, I just… I was wondering… Do you think we could maybe… try something? When we get home?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Try something? Suddenly she felt very warm, excited and nervous at the same time. With a tinge of fear. This was Crona, so she knew she had no reason to be afraid. And they'd been together for several weeks; it was natural to move a little further. But she had no experience… He sensed her hesitation and recoiled.

"We don't have to. I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

"No," she cut him off, placing her free hand on his chest. He tensed beneath her glove. "No, that's not it at all. We can try new things, but lets take it slow, okay?"

"So…" His brow knit in confusion, storm cloud eyes soft. "Not when we get to the apartment?"

"Why don't you-" an impish grin came onto her face. "Race me and find out!"

And with that she took off, tearing down the generally empty streets and up the stairs. Crona paused for a moment in shock, then began to run after her. He wasn't in as good of shape, but had made significant improvements since starting at the DWMA. Despite his robe, he kept up. At least until they hit the apartment stairs. Maka beat him up those with ease and was waiting for him when he finally arrived, huffing.

"Looks like I win!" Crona closed the apartment door behind him, breathing hard and unbuttoning his collar. Exposing the snow-white skin beneath. She pulled off her sweater vest and threw it back onto the couch. That was future Maka's problem. Current Maka felt invigorated and rather curious.

"What's my prize?"

"Prize?" Crona repeated, looking a little surprised and anxious. "I don't have any prizes, Maka."

"The thing, silly," she teased, pulling him closer. His hands settled on her hips, expression confused again. "We're alone, Soul and Blair should be out for a while, so lets just… go for it!"

"Are you sure? I don't want to-to move too fast."

Maka leaned in and pressed her lips into the crook of his neck. Usually there was fabric covering the spot, but just now she could nuzzle in. Feel the flesh prick up and shudder beneath her touch. Feel it begin to burn for an entirely different reason.

"What did you want to try," she murmured.

He didn't speak. His hands moved intentionally, cupping her face and bringing it up to his. Their lips met again, except this time there was an urgency she'd never felt before. Slowly, tentatively, he opened his mouth on top of hers, his little tongue running across her lower lip. She tensed and he immediately pulled back, releasing her and stumbling away.

"I'm sorry."

"No Crona, I was just surprised."

He didn't look convinced. Sighing and berating herself, she grabbed his hand, pulling him back to her bedroom. Lets see, how had she heard this went… Pushing Crona onto the mattress, Maka settled herself next to him, intertwining their hands. Slowly, but deliberately, she pressed her mouth over his again, only this time it was she who took the initiative. Her tongue traced his lips lightly and, when they parted, slid inside. It wasn't gross, like she'd so often imagined. Actually, it felt nice. Warm and exactly the same as her own. His tongue came alive when she found it, starting its own tentative journey across the bridge. She felt it in her mouth, warm and strong and exploring. His hands moved to her face, holding her close as their tongues entwined. Mouths working over each other.

Maka tugged away, moving her lips across his jaw and down his neck. She found a spot just above his collarbone and nipped at it. He gasped, his hands settling in her hair. They found the bands that held her pigtails and, as gently as he had the presence of mind to be, pulled them out. Allowing her hair to cascade around her shoulders. Crona knotted his fingers in it, arching his back. She pulled his mouth back onto hers, grabbing at the back of his neck in sudden desperation.

It wasn't that she knew what to do; at best she was working from a romantic drama script. It was more like… her body knew. When something felt good she did more of it, when something felt off she moved on. Curious, she grabbed his hands, pulling them from her scalp, causing him to moan in protest. But the noise was quickly replaced by something else entirely as she moved them to her breasts. He pulled back, eyes stunned and a little afraid. Maka shrunk under those eyes, feeling a deep shame and insecurity eat the heat that had just burnt in her body. She let go, scooting back. Away from him.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, brushing hair out of her face as her gaze darted everywhere but the place where Crona sat. "And after I said we weren't going to move fast."

"Maka…" he searched for the right words. "Please don't be mad. Please?"

"Crona, I'm not mad."

"But you look mad. You look like I hurt you. I didn't mean to, I- I- you're so perfect. You're like… I don't know how to say it."

Maka swallowed, refusing to look at him. Rejection stung worse than she'd imagined and she was afraid, if he saw how bad it was, she might cry. Crona closed the space between them, reaching out, fingers feather light as the stroked her cheek. His pink hair was tousled and his eyes had gone ice blue from the excitement.

"Maka? Maka you told me I needed to learn how to say "no" when I can't do something. I want to be close to you and to touch you and to make you feel happy, but I… I can't do… _that_ to you. I don't know how to deal with it. Not yet."

"I understand," she sighed after a long pause. Gingerly, she lifted her chin and chanced a glance at him. He looked so earnest, so vulnerable and afraid. But there was something else, some sense of wonder and need. Her insecurity faltered under that look and she smiled a little.

"Are you sure? I haven't-"

"Not at all. It's fine; it's my first time too. We'll just have to learn together is all. I'm glad you're setting boundaries, really. It makes me feel safe, like I'm not going to push you away."

"You don't have to worry about that," he said urgently. "I want to be with you, Maka. Only you. I want to stay with you for as long as you'll let me."

She didn't answer, at least, not directly. Instead she leaned over, pressing her lips lightly against his. A silent promise that she would stay with him too.

* * *

"What do you have to report?"

A shiver shot through her, starting in the back of her head and running down her spine. That voice… Ever since her mind had been… It only spoke truth. It was to be obeyed, without question. Only then would she be granted vengeance. The Demon Swordsman would suffer, returned to his nature, and all would be as it was meant to.

"It continues to study," she said in a hushed tone, staring forward into nothingness.

"Yes, I know. Its memories of the experiments are clear. What of the girl?"

"She is protective, but suspects nothing. Her partner, however, is concerned."

"Curious."

"His name is Soul Evans, he's a weapon- a scythe. He's so worried about looking cool, but really he's a good guy-"

"Irrelevant."

The word cut into her. Literally. She winced, black hair falling forward over her face as air hissed through her teeth. An outburst- she shouldn't have done that. Something cold moved in her head, a hundred legs skittering across her brain, reminding her. Fear gripped her chest, a vision of smoke and flames flashing before her. Her parents were in there! They were in their apartment! Fire! It was burning- Then the chill came back and she remembered only her purpose.

"He has Black Blood," she said, gaze returning to the black. The presence in her head felt pleased. "Not always, but the Madness is inside him too. They are connected."

"You are sure of this?"

"Yes. I stayed close and heard them. I sent the centipede as you instructed and it was close to giving in, but not yet. Soul could sense it; he spoke to the Demon Swordsman."

"Who else knows?"

"It's not common knowledge, but I would assume the elite in the Academy are aware."

"Good. You've done well; this could be very useful. Using Crona is a risk I'm not prepared to take just yet, but this Soul Evans… Of course I wouldn't want to kill him, that would be a waste. Yet a field test would be beneficial. If I can empower the Madness of the Black Blood to overcome him, and maintain it, then my goal will be within reach. Yes, this is very good."

"What should I do? Do you want me to bring him to you?"

"No, you're too valuable an asset. Continue your work within Death City, watch, listen. Get my centipedes as close to Crona as you can, and receive it when it comes to you."

"It'll come to me?"

"When it's ready. Before that _meister_ got to it it was almost ready to come directly to me. I could lure it to the messengers, trigger its Madness, it was all but mine. Now I rely on you. Do not fail me."

"What… What will you do to him?" A tremor of fear and guilt shot up her spine. Another outburst… yet she had been observing the Demon Swordsman for what felt like an eternity. He seemed gentle, not at all the monster of her nightmares. Punishment was absolutely necessary, but to be changed as she had been. To once more be made nothing but a tool… Did he deserve that?

The witch laughed, a frigid, terrifying noise that scratched like nails in her ears.

"Why, the same thing I did to you. I will burrow into its mind and twist it into the demon it is meant to be. I will break it and let the witch blood flow free. I will destroy it and reform it and when I'm done the world will remember what fear feels like. Does that bother you?"

Her mouth was dry, a stabbing pain pulsing with her heartbeat. For a moment she remembered herself, the tailor's daughter, an aspiring historian. Sad and angry. Not this… no one deserved this. The insect in her brain squeezed and she cried out. Cold slime slid over her skin, inside her, down her throat. Dissolved her. Her eyes lost their glint, her muscles relaxed, her mind silenced.

"No."

"Of course it doesn't. Now go. Find out when this Soul Evans will next be outside the walls of Death City. Bring Crona closer to the edge. And, if you can, make sure Maka Albarn is there to watch them both fall. I can think of few greater joys than to see her suffer."


	13. Chapter 13

"Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

Maka glanced back at him over her shoulder, one pigtail sliding across her back. She'd finished inspecting the instrument Professor Stein had built to study the Black Blood and felt both impressed and nervous. Her question hung in the air. Crona looked back, eyes calm and storm cloud grey. He looked ready, like this didn't bother him at all. Silently, Maka scolded herself. Of course it didn't bother him; it was his research. This was something he knew more about than she did. That made her uncomfortable is all. Black Star, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed.

"No one can ever be ready for the force that is my soul wavelength," he proclaimed loudly from the other end of the room, flexing his muscles. Tsubaki stood next to him, laughing a little at his antics. Like the rest of them, she'd been curious and decided to observe the experiment, despite not being needed.

"Oh shut up already! I've told you a million times nothing's stronger than the Black Blood!"

Ragnarok bubbled to the surface between Crona's shoulder blades, shaking a tiny white fist at Black Star. Obviously he'd forgotten Giriko's spinning blades and, let's not leave this out, Medusa's arrow. But other than that the Demon Sword had a point. The Black Blood was sturdy if nothing else. Crona blinked up at his partner, contemplating. It should be an interesting experiment.

"This is not a contest of strength," chided Professor Stein, sitting in a chair by the monitor and pulling on a cigarette. "Once again, the purpose is to simply measure the response to attack in order to compose a mechanism of action."

"Of course it's not! I'm going to surpass God. There can't be a contest."

"Yeah, yeah, we know," said Soul with a smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. Then, trying to play it cool, his crimson eyes moved to the Professor. "Before you start, can you remind me again how this works?"

"We'll have to calibrate first." It was Crona who answered, sheepish and yet still somehow confident. "A small burst of the soul wavelength is shot down the analyzer and the quadrapole, four charged plates, filters out any noise, leaving only the primary wavelength. We set the detector to scan so we can align the monochrometer to that wavelength, then the experiment can start."

"Blah blah, nobody cares!"

"Very good Crona," Stein said, grinning a little. "Would you like to tell them how we collect the data?"

"Oh… Madness has a wavelength too. When the Black Blood is under attack, it releases energy as it hardens, which goes out in all directions. The sample chamber is designed to reflect the energy and focus it onto a special detector, which only records Madness."

"Um, yeah, so what does that mean in English?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't say it clearly…"

"You hit the blood with your soul wavelength and it releases a Madness wavelength, idiot," Maka said, annoyed. Then she turned her attention back to Crona. "See, perfectly clear!"

Crona smiled at her, nodding. Professor Stein gave the group an appraising look, his olive eyes sweeping this way and that until they finally came to a rest on Soul. The scythe looked skeptical, a small frown creasing his features. Indeed, he would be on edge. Madness affected him too and his own Black Blood made him sensitive. It would be interesting to see what happened; their sample chamber was well shielded in theory, but in practice Crona still got a little woozy during the experiments.

"Before we get started, we need to address a certain problem. Crona?"

The sword meister jumped, his eyes going ice blue at the unexpected prompting.

"What," he squeaked, frantically looking the instrument up and down. Had he forgotten something? Was he going to break it?

"With Black Star," the Professor added, giving Crona a pointed look. This was part of the learning process and, as much as Crona hated being put on the spot, he was slowly learning to handle it. With his friends was a much safer environment than in front of the class during lecture. Still, some encouragement couldn't hurt. "You know this. What's special about Black Star's soul?"

"It's powerful…" he answered slowly, his blue gaze drifting to the meister.

"Damn right it is!" Black Star gave him a wink and a thumbs-up, but Crona didn't smile. He was looking past him into a realm of pure thought.

"It's short, meaning it has a lot of energy… It'll overload the detector?"

He looked to Professor Stein, expectant, and received a nod of affirmation. Growing bolder, he kept going.

"We'll have to… I don't know what to do, but it has to become weaker…" He paused, frowning. Maka knew the answer and it took all she had not to blurt it out, though as the seconds passed she did begin to consider raising her hand. Black Star, Soul, and Tsubaki did not and were artfully avoiding the Professor's eye hoping he wouldn't move onto them. Crona's face was becoming increasingly flushed as he struggled, but in sharp contrast to his previous self, he didn't give up. Finally, after a long and awkward silence, he continued. "We need to pass it through something with a lower index of refraction than air?"

"Yes, that's right. However even a vacuum wouldn't be sufficient to drop the energy of Black Star's wavelength. Fortunately, I've nebulized a small amount of soul-sucking water which should do nicely. Come here and I'll show you how to pressurize the accelerator chamber."

Professor Stein moved to a gas cylinder that had been sitting inconspicuously to his right and rolled it towards the instrument. Wordlessly, he gestured for a small wrench, which Crona brought to him using just the tips of his fingers. Maka came up behind him, peering over his shoulder. Together, they watched Stein remove the cap from the cylinder and hook up a regulator, tightening it with the wrench. Then he took a small, thin metal tube and connected the two containers. There was a hissing sound as the gas pushed air out of an open port on the accelerator chamber, causing them all to start.

"We'll let that flush for a little," he said casually, handing the wrench back to Crona who fumbled with it. "Now, since the wavelength will no longer be in air, we'll need to inject it."

"But the port," started Crona, setting the wrench on a table near the front of the instrument and turning to inspect it. A little gasp slipped over his lips as he noticed the front had been replaced. Where a simple hole had been before, a metal plate with a slit just large enough for a needle now rested. It had been screwed onto the front, sealed there with a compressed rubber o-ring. The needle injection port stuck out about a centimeter, a little chamber of its own. Now he understood. They would inject the wavelength, seal it to replace the air with vapor, then release it down the accelerator like normal. Whatever soul-sucking gas this was must serve to drop the soul's frequency and prevent it from blowing out their detector. Crona wondered what it was, how it worked. A light tingle as the vapor blew from the chamber told him it was magic.

"I took care of all the details before you all arrived. If you'd like to stay afterwards, I'll show you how to disassemble it."

"Alright!"

"No, I'm good."

"I think I left some laundry that I'll need to attend to."

"A star as big as me doesn't have time for something as boring as that!"

"I… I'd like that." Crona was the last to speak, peering up at Professor Stein through his bangs.

"Now, Black Star, this is where you come in. You needn't stay for the whole experiment, we just need a sample of your soul wavelength."

"Finally! Some action! What should I shoot? Just point!"

"How good is your aim," Stein smirked, holding up a clay jar. Crona shuddered; that was magic too. In the back of his mind, a small figure wanted to take it apart. Black Star deflated a little, then steeled.

"Don't think that little pot will be able to hold my soul!"

"Professor," Maka interjected, a little worried. "Should we do this outside?"

"Oh, yes, probably." He sounded almost disappointed.

* * *

Soul didn't like this. Not even a little. Crona had pricked his finger, releasing a string of black blood into the sample chamber, which just hovered there as a paper-thin rectangle. Black Star's wavelength impacted again and again, striking like a thin bolt of lightning and sending ripples through the sheet. Every ripple released a spike of power that breathed at the back of his neck. A knock at the black door. He could only imagine what it was like for Crona. But the sword meister didn't seem to mind at all; his ice blue gaze was steadily fixed on the pane of blood. Maka was watching the monitor intently, staring at the data as it came out. Marie was nowhere to be found and Stein's expression was completely unreadable, though his manner suggested relaxation. So it was just Soul who was uncomfortable. But the intensity with which he felt this was a terrible idea made up for that.

"Alright Crona," the professor said in a low tone. The pink-haired meister shivered and turned to look at him, relaxing the blood pane. "This is the last of Black Star's wavelength. I'm going to release it in a long stream and we'll see how the Black Blood stands up to continuous pressure. Do you understand what to do?"

"Yes…" he said with a slow nod, clutching his arm above the elbow. "I think so."

"Excellent. Then let's get started."

For a moment Soul considered protesting, maybe suggesting they call it a day and leave before something disastrous could happen, but he wasn't fast enough. A draft of Madness washed through the room, sending shivers down his spine. Unlike before, the charge of it only intensified over time, whining as Dr. Stein shot Black Star's wavelength down the machine. Crona's unblinking gaze was fixed on his blood, his focus causing sweat to dampen his brow. It was the first sign of distress he'd shown all day. Soul watched his eyes, ice blue and calm, as the widened. Pupils dilating as the Madness grew louder. Surely it was almost over!

Then… something else flared. With the last bolt of soul wavelength the Black Blood reacted, yawning forward to devour, arching, curving. Crona's pupils expanded to the rims of his irises so his eyes were consumed by blackness. His head tilted downward, lips parting in a gash-like smile. In the back of Soul's mind a voice that didn't belong to him or anyone he knew breathed something he could just barely make out: dissolve. Tiny protrusions like thorny vines peeled away from the blood's core, stretching before the whole thing clenched into a sphere of hard Madness.

The data readout spiked, a sharp and narrow peak rising from the baseline. Maka let out a squeak, drawing Dr. Stein's attention and causing Crona to snap back to himself. He blinked and, with a crystalline sound, the sphere fragmented, liquefying into simple blood once more. For a second everyone just stood there, blinking at the instrument. It stared back, innocent, unconcerned by the abnormality it had just produced. With a slight whimper, Crona's knees gave out and Soul had to move lightning fast to catch him. Stein was on them in an instant, a small flashlight materializing in his hand. With two fingers he held open Cona's eyelids and with the other he flicked the light back and forth. The sword meister's eyes went ice blue in response, his black pupils dilating and contracting normally.

"Is he okay Professor," Maka asked, kneeling to join the group. Crona looked up at her, trembling a little. He did not enjoy the attention.

"Crona," Stein asked, ignoring her. "How do you feel?"

"I-I'm fine. I just- just got dizzy."

"Probably just fatigue."

"What was that," Soul interjected, sitting Crona up so he could support his own weight. One pale hand ran through pink hair as the sword meister frowned, unsure.

"We'll have to analyze the data to know," the Professor said blandly, standing up and moving to the computer. "I'll start working it up now."

"I can-"

"No Crona, you've done too much today. Go home. I will see you tomorrow in class."

Crona's lips tightened over a protest; as much as he wanted to know what had just happened, he knew better than to argue with Professor Stein. He didn't even know how to deal with arguing.

"Come on Crona," Maka said with a smile, noting his glum expression and taking his hand. "It's dinner time anyway."

* * *

"Soul can you just drop it!" Maka's tone was harsh, her features worked into a stern fury by her partner's persistence. Soul, however, was unmoved.

"I'm not saying it was bad," he continued, avoiding everyone's eye and spooning another mouthful of tomato soup. "But you have to admit it was weird."

"Yes," said Crona thoughtfully, fidgeting a little. His own soup remained untouched, though Ragnarok had already eaten three bowls and fallen into a food coma. "I don't really remember. That's never happened before."

"Honestly…" Soul put down his spoon, deciding it was time to stop beating around the bush. "It freaked me out."

"Soul," Maka admonished. Crona stiffened, twisting his hands in his lap.

"You didn't feel it," he shot back, not noticing Crona's discomfort. "It was intense, even with all that shielding Stein said was in place. The fact that these experiments are producing Madness like that isn't even a little cool."

Pink hair fell across his eyes, a slight flush rising in his cheeks. Soul had been harping on this since they'd started dinner and Crona was reaching the end of his capacity to deal with it. The more he spoke the more it felt like Soul was blaming him for something. Or… accusing him of something.

"We all know you don't approve of the project, but don't make things up to try and stop it!"

"Maka, I am _not_ making this up!"

Crona's chest tightened, his fingers curling into fists as he tried to keep the shivers from becoming obvious. There was a hole in his memory, a pit of oozing blackness, and the more they argued the worse that hole seemed. He was on the edge of it, staring into something terrible, and though he knew Soul was right, that he needed to step away, he couldn't.

"Remember when you "weren't saying it was bad?" If you're not criticizing then what exactly _are_ you doing right now."

"Fine! Yes, I think it's a bad idea! I think it's a terrible idea!"

In the blackness there was liquid and in the liquid there were thorny vines. And in the vines there was power…

"Nobody asked you! It's Crona's research!"

Dissolve… Destroy…

The bowl before Crona exploded, sending tomato soup straight up in a geyser. Everyone froze, shocked and confused as red rained down all around them. A gasp passed over Crona's lips when the liquid caught in his hair and ran down his face, dripping off his chin into his lap. Shaking violently, he held his hands out, staring at them. Red. Wet.

 _His blood was red… brilliantly so. Even in the moonlight he could tell, could see it glinting like ruby as it ran from his body. The doors here only opened inward; that had been her mistake. His was trying to save her. Why would he do that? What was the point? Why save life? The blood sprayed outward, spattering him, coating him. Once he died the red would go away, all collapsed into the blue-white soul Ragnarok would devour. But for now it was stuck in his hair, dripping from his face. All over his hands and chest. His robe was soaked with it. Warm, growing sticky. Red. Wet._

Crona opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. There were voices around him, he registered that much, but they were coming from far away. The apartment was far away. His own mind yawned out and swallowed him. Goosebumps ran up and down his spine but he couldn't tremble. Panic coursed through his veins but he couldn't run. Paralysis had taken hold and, though his eyes remained wide open, the world went dark.

"Crona? Crona!" Maka called, but to no avail. The sword meister just stared dumbly forward, eyes wide and unrecognizing. Without warning his soup had just… it had attacked him. She and Soul were both fairly unscathed, but Crona was soaked in tomato which stood out vividly against his pale skin.

"Wha-" Soul tried, but she cut him off, worry making her voice waver.

"We'll figure that out later. Right now I-" She broke off, a physical ache blooming in her chest. He was so afraid, she could feel it, shocked and scared and beyond his ability to process. The exact cause of his reaction was unknown to her but one thing was perfectly clear: he was suffering. Gently, she took one of his hands, squeezing it despite the lack of response. Soul shook his head, his own fear turning his insides to ice. Something was wrong… but that had to be later's problem.

"Go on," he said, standing. "I'll take care of the table."

Maka nodded, not looking at him. As softly as she could, she tugged at Crona's hand. He responded like a puppet, rising and allowing himself to be led blindly. Biting her lip, Maka took him to the bathroom and gently closed the door.


	14. Chapter 14

Her hand was entwined with his, her skin stained with the red. He could see it, he knew what was happening, but he couldn't _feel_ anything. There was no communication from his fingers. Nothing to suggest the image was real, that it was an event and not a picture. Numbness permeated his being. Comprehension drained from his mind and life became nothing more than a series of abstract flashes. Devoid of emotion because he couldn't process emotion right now.

That night… her skin had been red too. Not like his; the blood hadn't sprayed her. It had gone forward and sideways, following the trajectory of Ragnarok's blade. No, she'd gotten the red from grasping at her partner. Her hands around his body, holding him as she trembled. Disbelief and terror. That was before he knew what sympathy was. Before he understood who she was. Back when things were simple. Easy, even. Blood in the moonlight, the hollow sound of bells, the Hell inside his head. Crona knew he wasn't there, that this night was different, and yet there he was. The red wetness was going cold… Getting sticky… And there was no way out. So he curled up and waited for it to go away. His body moved in response to another's will, then and now.

Maka closed the bathroom door quietly and turned to look at the pink haired meister. Crona gave no signal that he noticed her gaze, or even registered where they were. His pale eyes were wide yet unfocused, blank and observing a world only he could see. The ache in her chest expanded, tightening her throat and burning her eyes. Why? Why did this happen and why couldn't she stop it? No answer came. None ever did because there were no answers. Just cold, cruel reality.

Steeling herself, Maka placed one hand on each of Crona's shoulders and pressed. Wordlessly he obeyed, sitting down on the toilet. The lack of resistance hurt even more. She swallowed, pursing her lips as she refused to cry. There was no time for it and besides, Crona needed her to be strong right now. Maka needed to be strong, or else there would be nothing for it. If she broke down now, who would help Crona? Who would take care of him? Tomato soup coated her hands, seeping out from his black robe. It was all over his face, in his hair, everywhere.

"First things first," she whispered, both unable to stand the silence and trying not to break it. Fortunately their bathroom was small, so she didn't need to venture far to get a towel. The soup would wash out. As quickly as she could without making loud, potentially startling noises, Maka wet the cloth with warm water, wringing it out over the sink.

"Crona," she tried softly. "Crona, I'm going to wipe off your face. Is that okay?" Not even a twitch. Sighing through her nose, Maka took it as approval and began stroking his cheek. The red came away easily, but she didn't want to be too harsh. She didn't want to hurt him any more. Slowly, gently, she moved to the rest of him, tracing his features. His little upturned nose, his sharp chin. Through his hair and down his neck. The white collar of his robe was red, but the black of the rest made it hard to tell how extensive the damage was. Placing the towel on the edge of the sink, Maka undid the buttons at his throat. Then she began to peel away the fabric.

Like lighting Crona's hand caught hers, his long fingers delicate but firm. A shudder ran through his body and for the first time he acknowledged something was happening. His eyes swung up, seeking hers yet seemingly afraid to meet them. She caught his gaze, smiling a little.

"It's alright now," Maka soothed, allowing him to hold her hand frozen above his collarbone. "I promise."

Without saying anything or really even changing his expression, Crona communicated uncertainty. Maka's other hand extended, pushing hair from his face with just the tips of her fingers. Like a breath across his skin.

"Do you want me to go?" The question physically hurt to ask, but she had no choice. She could not allow Crona to continue suffering. And he had to get cleaned up. "Your robe needs to be washed. I can do that while you shower?"

When he didn't answer she tried to get up, yet his grip held fast. Strength came into his hand and, timidly, he pulled her to his side, bringing her fingers back to the robe's collar. There he released her, closing his eyes as if in preparation for something truly unpleasant. Maka licked her lips, recalling Ragnarok's criticisms of his body. Gingerly, she peeled back the cloth, revealing moon-bright skin coated with red. At first she was unsure of what big secret was hidden under the black, but as she mopped his flesh it became apparent. Across his shoulder and chest there were numerous white scars like spots. Places where he'd clawed at himself, scratching and scratching until his fingers were stained and the wound was raw and bloody. Holes through which he'd released some unfathomable demon.

She froze, staring at the marks. There were so many… Most looked old, even raised as if he'd clawed off the scar tissue more than once. Others were recently healed, still rimmed by a darker tone. He'd been doing this for such a long time and he was still doing it. Again, she had to wonder why, even though the force that drove him and the reasons behind it were beyond her comprehension. There was no way she could understand; there is no understanding the pit for those on its rim. Nevertheless it hurt her, biting into her heart and making the pain she'd felt up until that moment seem mild. Compassion doesn't require understanding and she knew in her core that what Crona had been through- was still going through, was terrible.

Maka wanted now more than ever to stay with him. She wanted him to know that she'd stay. Deliberately she set the towel by the sink, taking Crona in her arms. One hand pressed into the side of his neck while the other curled around his back, drawing him closer. Uncontrollable tears burnt in her eyes as she leaned into him, pressing her lips to the scars. Crona stiffened beneath her touch and she pulled away, catching his wild gaze.

"I love you Crona," Maka breathed, tilting her head so one pig tail slid across her back. "I love all of you and I don't want you to hurt anymore. So the next time you want to do this-" her fingers traced a line of marks from his shoulder to his sternum. "Would you come talk to me instead? You can talk to me about anything, or we can just sit together, whatever you need. You know that, right? You know I'm here for you?"

For the first time expression returned to his features, unreadable but present. He stared at her, eyes relaxing into a storm cloud grey as a tiny frown creased his face. Maka stared back, vibrant green orbs shining in the sharp electric light. Slowly, as if it was a great effort, he reached a hand towards her face. Then he caught sight of the red that still marred those hands and froze, flinching. She blinked, wishing she knew what about the soup had disturbed him so much. But if there were any right words she couldn't find them, so instead she nuzzled her cheek into his open palm. He started at the contact, but didn't pull away.

"Maka," his lips formed the name though barely a sound issued from his mouth. "The blood…"

"There's no blood." Her voice was firm but still soft, like evening sunlight. "It's not blood Crona. You're safe and I'm safe and Soul is safe. No one's hurt at all."

"It's all over me…"

"You just need a shower. Everything will be fine, you'll see." Driving her point home, Maka pulled away from Crona, grabbed the towel again, and wiped his palm. Unlike blood, tomato soup is easy to clean up. Within a second his skin was paper white again and she was cleaning off her own face, smiling a little. Crona frowned, the dissonance between what his mind was telling him and reality making his head spin. Maka sobered, sighing again.

"Crona," she said seriously. "Your robe does need cleaning; you need to take it off. I can go, if you want, but-"

"No," he cut her off, eyes focused on the floor tiles. "Don't go. Please don't."

"Alright. Should I turn around?"

He didn't say anything. Instead, Crona stood, the trembling starting up again in his shoulders and fingers. Hesitantly, he finished sliding one arm out of the sleeve, then the other, pushing the black fabric down around his hips. A vivid line like rope stood out across his abdomen. The place Medusa's arrow had nearly cut him in two. Then he pushed further and the robe fell into a heap around his ankles. Crona didn't wear underwear.

A flush rose in Maka's face as she looked at him. Her first thoughts were confused; what she saw wasn't something with which she was familiar. Then she realized she didn't care, and something impure swept across her mind. His lean musculature, his curved hips and round butt, his bare skin streaked with red… A hunger she didn't know she had awoke within her at the sight of his nakedness. But that, too, was quickly suppressed. Now was not the time, besides, he looked so scared. Shaking, he moved to the bathtub and turned on the water as she watched. Obeying. The idea hit her like a bag of rocks across the face. No, she wouldn't have it.

"Wait," she whispered, tensing. Crona froze, unsure and afraid. Still he tried to make her happy through submission. Even now, it didn't occur to him that they were equals. Maka swallowed a lump of fear, readying herself for the only thing she could think of that would put them on level footing. Her own hands shook as she pulled off her shirt, causing Crona to gasp. He straightened, wide eyes watching her unclasp her bra and let it fall into a pile with her skirt on the floor. Again, he was covered in red, but for a very different reason.

"Maka, what are you-"

"Shh." She let her underwear complete the set of discarded garments. Stepping just on the tips of her toes, Maka got into the bathtub and under the water streaming from the shower head. A small smile tugged at her lips, though her eyes remained completely serious as she offered a hand to Crona. After a moment of consideration he accepted, allowing Maka to position him in front of her. The sound of water buried their discomfort and soon Crona found himself passivated enough to release Maka's fingers. Water poured onto his head and her hands followed it, running through his hair.

One final, massive scar marred the flesh between his shoulder blades, concentrated at the spine but still stretching down to the small of his back in a starburst pattern. The place where Ragnarok liked to emerge. He could feel her eyes lingering on it, but that didn't upset him anymore. If anything he felt relieved; the worst had finally happened. Maka could see him, his deformity, his disturbed compulsions, his broken mind, all of him. There was nothing left to hide and no place to hide it. This was the part where she abandoned him… yet that didn't happen. Cautiously, he turned to look at her, to make sure it hadn't happened. Just like always she was by his side. Scars of her own made webs across her skin, the place where Asura had dug into her side standing out like a growth. Her breasts were very small and red spots of acne dotted her chest. Acutely aware of her vulnerability, she flushed, stiffening but not withdrawing.

Reality reformed around her and Crona's thoughts finally settled. It was true: there was no blood. This wasn't the church. They were all safe. He'd just spilled some soup. Everything was fine. Now they were showering together and… he was too exhausted to deal with what that meant. Turning fully, he leaned forward, pressing his brow to her's. Maka paused for a moment, then pressed back.


	15. Chapter 15

The data looked normal… mostly. As they'd expected, the Madness peak intensity was overall lower with Black Star's wavelength; he was strong, but not quite as strong as Professor Stein. At least not yet. What interested them was the broadness. Before, the wavelength had hit, the blood had hardened, then a tall, sharp peak had emerged from the baseline. More like a pulse of energy. With Black Star's the Madness had reacted instantaneously, but gradually, ramping up until the attack subsided. Then just as slowly it had dropped back down. Against Black Star the Madness was much more sustained, possibly even more powerful. Their conclusion was that in a fight with him, Crona would have a harder time controlling it than against Stein. The professor hypothesized it was because, unlike himself, Black Star's Madness was not active. Why that would cause such a difference in Madness emissions was the question.

But it wasn't the question Crona was worried about just now. He was staring at the last data set, where they'd released Black Star's wavelength in a continuous stream. This looked particularly… disconcerting. The Madness had just continued to radiate, increasing in intensity with every passing millisecond. Just when it looked like it was leveling off (at about the same level it reached with Stein's wavelength), the peak split. For an instant the intensity dropped, creating two distinct apex points. The second was noticeably higher than the first. Even after Crona had allowed the blood to relax back into a liquid state the Madness had continued to emit, tailing off over a minute.

Crona knew in his gut this drop corresponded to the moment just before his blood had hardened into a sphere. Before the vines began to peel from its surface. At least, that's what Soul had seen. Crona didn't actually remember very clearly, just a feeling of… hunger. It had scared Soul. It hadn't scared Crona. Not until he'd felt it again before his soup exploded. That hadn't been Madness. No, whatever had caused the split in the peak, whatever energy had yielded these results, it was not Madness. The idea of it frightened him, yet he hadn't told anyone, not even Maka. The longer he stared at the data, the more sure he was. Something else was inside him.

"What are you," he whispered to the screen. It was late, so late that anyone aside from Professor Stein would've sent him home hours ago. However he wasn't with anyone else, and in the name of science the Professor was open to just about anything. So Crona sat in the dark, his pale skin made all the paler by the white light from the computer. Every now and then there would be a power surge and that whiteness would get brighter, igniting the back wall. Turning the stacks of books there into monsters. Monsters that seemed to move. Crona started at the electric hum, spinning around to face whatever had caught his eye.

Lady Medusa's journals lined the floor and stacked upwards towards the high ceiling. Stein had said no one had been able to decipher them as of yet, but each volume was available to him if he wanted to look. And Crona wanted to. The first set had been fascinating, and not just from an intellectual standpoint. Reading them was like… like talking to his mother. Like she was talking to him not as a subordinate or a thing, but as a person. A peer. There was a time when feeling so close to her would've thrilled him, and he couldn't deny the appeal. But now he couldn't forget the pain she'd caused Maka by hurting him. He couldn't forget that place made of magic and stone and the way she'd smiled as she killed him. No, his mother had truly abandoned him and reading her words couldn't change that. Still…

Thoughts of his mother swirled with his questions, mixing, breeding new questions. Had she known about it? Did Lady Medusa know what else was in his Black Blood? Did she put it there or was it intrinsic to him? How did it feed the Madness? How had she done it?

At first he thought it was another power surge, but then the shadow flicked again. Crona tensed, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands as he turned to look. Something in the pile moved. Fear made his heart hammer in his ears, eyes wide and unblinking and staring. Again a shiver ran through the stack, then one of the volumes tore loose. Crona opened his mouth but nothing but a strangled gasp escaped. The book hovered as if possessed, then it started to float towards him. He knew he had to run, but his body wasn't working. His legs wouldn't listen. Gasping again, Crona fell from the chair, landing hard on the floor. At least here he could crawl. It continued to advance slowly and deliberately towards him. Entirely unhindered by his attempts to escape. Crona pressed against the wall, scrunching up his face in preparation for the blow that was surely coming.

Yet nothing happened. Cracking his eyes, Crona stared at the journal. It hovered before him, innocent, waiting for something Crona didn't understand. Cautiously, he reached out, fingers brushing the spine. The book responded by falling to the floor with a traumatic thud. For a moment the two seemed to stare at each other, then the front cover opened, paper flipping as if in a powerful wind until the book settled on a specific page. Something about it… called him. There was a feeling, like when Maka reached out and brushed his soul. When she did it he felt warm, safe even. This did not feel safe; it was cold and hard. But at the same time it was right. He couldn't explain it at all. Crona peered over his knees, inspecting the selected page with wide, ice blue eyes. It was blank.

Blank and white and yawning out at him. Swallowing him. Taking him apart and putting him back together. There were no words yet he heard. No pictures yet he saw. No presence and yet someone there… Oh god no…

"Crona?"

Marie rounded the corner, clutching a fluffy robe around her shoulders. The desert nights were cold, so when she was home Marie tended to bundle up as soon as the sun went down. It still unnerved her that Crona had such a resistance to extreme temperatures; the sight of him in nothing but thin black fabric was jarring. Honestly she'd been meaning to come out anyway. Franken saw no problems with letting the teen work through the night in their living room, but it was getting rather late for her tastes. They either needed to send him off or make him a bed. The thuds she'd heard only confirmed this. She assumed he was asleep at the desk and that the noises were just something falling over.

"Crona," she tried again, softly. The last thing she wanted to do was startle him. "You're working too hard. Come, let me set up the couch for you. We tend to get up early, but I'll tell Franken not to wake you. Crona?"

He didn't respond. At all. A book lay open before him and he was staring at it with an intensity she'd never seen before. His eyes were wide and, as she watched, he started to visibly shake. Still his expression remained completely blank and he gave no indication that he'd even noticed her. Biting her lower lip, Marie moved to his side. Worry bubbled in her gut and, throwing caution to the wind, she reached out to grab his shoulder. A spasm shot through his body at her touch and he cried out. Crona turned sharply towards her, panic etched into his sharp features like an all too comfortable mask. Marie held fast, her golden eye holding his pale blue gaze. She could feel him trembling beneath her fingers and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Hush now, you're alright," she soothed, pressing her palm into his shoulder. He panted, giving her a disbelieving look. His eyes swept the room, teeth chattering as he gazed into the shadows.

"D-did you s-see it," he squeaked after a long minute.

"See what?" Marie frowned, her own gaze giving the room a once over. Nothing. She did, however, notice that the book was one of Medusa's journals. Her mood darkened at the sight of it and she looked back to Crona. "What is it?"

"I- I-" he tried, but his fear was too thick to let him think. Her heart melted.

"Crona look at me," Marie said in a gentle voice, like talking to a bird. "There's nothing. You're safe here. Nothing can get in and if it did, Franken and I would protect you. Now, did something happen? Did you fall asleep?"

He bit his lower lip, swallowing hard as his eyes settled on the open journal. Once again it looked back, blank pages taunting. He knew what he'd seen, knew what it meant, and he knew he needed to tell someone. Yet an old terror kept him silent. None of them could read Lady Medusa's work. What did it say about him that he could? What would they think if they knew? And the worst part was he wasn't sure he wanted to tell. Secrets settled inside him, sickening. Crona looked back to Marie, taking a steadying breath, trying to prepare himself for something he couldn't do. The lie stuck in his throat. She frowned, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Did you have another flashback?"

Now it was Crona's turn to frown. It hadn't even occurred to him that that could've happened. Something inside knew it hadn't, and yet he found himself nodding. Desperately wanting to believe that was all. Wanting the pages to stay blank.

"M-m-maybe…" he whispered, focusing on her golden eye. The half-truth burnt like acid. "I d-don't kn-know- I-"

She cut him off, pulling him forward into a warm, secure embrace. Crona froze, eyes wide. Her chin nestled in his hair, her hands rubbing his back in gentle strokes. A cord inside him frayed, residual fear and discomfort churning in his gut. Still, he didn't pull away. Marie's voice rumbled in her chest, speaking words he didn't understand. All he knew was she was holding him and that made him feel… safe. The cord snapped and his body went slack. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilled over onto his cheeks. Gasps pushed their way out of his trembling form as his hands made fists in her robe. Before he could stop himself he was sobbing into Marie's shoulder, shaking like a little leaf in her arms. She held him close, cradling him as you would a small child. Hoping that, through the haze of tragedy and whatever else that journal had forced him to recall, he knew he was loved now.

* * *

"What do you have?"

"I…" There was nothing. Nothing since the last time. Nothing before that. For a while now there had been nothing but the research. Afternoons spent in Professor Stein's home, hours in the library pouring over books he wasn't supposed to read. Too much time in places she couldn't reach. She hadn't been able to get the centipedes close. She was failing. The witch knew that, yet still she asked. Again and again she asked and again and again she punished the lack of progress. Even through the haze of empty cold, fear made her heart pound.

"I'm trying…"

"And yet still you have nothing to report. You're such a disappointment. How long has it been since you were useful to me? That is your purpose if you recall, to be useful."

"Yes. I know."

"Then why do you waste my time!"

Pain exploded inside her head, like a fist closing round her brain, squeezing the soft folds until they oozed through its fingers. She cried out, dropping to her knees. All her senses were gone, her thoughts silenced, her very being had been erased by the agony in her skull. Then it was gone and she was left panting. The question was rhetorical and answering it would only result in further punishment. So instead she curled up on the ground, awaiting whatever came next. A sigh echoed.

"I need information, you understand?" The witch was soft now. Honey sweet and patronizing. "My research is too important to be stalled. You must find a way to make progress."

"What should I do," she squeaked, terror overcoming the magic inside her to make her a person again. Almost. A person would've run. She could not.

"Death City is your home. That is one of the reasons you were chosen. Think. Soul Evans must leave sometimes; he is a student of the DWMA. He must hunt. Where is he going next?"

"I don't know…" The residual part of herself, the little voice, told her to stop there. Soul Evans was a good person, he'd helped defeat the Kishin, he didn't deserve whatever the witch had planned. But the fear. "There's a board in the school. I've heard the students talk about it; it's where they sign up for missions. It could tell me where Maka Albarn and Soul Evans will go next and when."

"Good. That's it. See, you know more than you think. Or is it something else? Resistance, maybe?"

"No! No I'm not resisting!" Desperation made her voice raw, her head jerking up so she could stare into the darkness with wild eyes. Tears rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks and she started to tremble, gasping.

"Oh yes you are. Listen to yourself, it's pathetic. The question is what should we do about it…"

"Let me go," she begged, throwing caution to the winds. "Please, I'm no good to you, you said it yourself! I can't sneak into the Academy, they have safe guards against magic. They'd catch me, please don't make me do it! Just let me go, I want to go home!"

"You don't have a home, not anymore, remember. The Demon Swordsman took it from you. Your family is gone, your friends abandoned you, now all you have is me. And I have you. We need each other, you and I."

"I don't care about all that! I can't help you anymore!"

Another sigh. It sent shivers through her already shaking form.

"So it is possible to develop a resistance. That's unfortunate. And if you are able to overcome this formula Crona most certainly could."

"Overcome? I could be free?"

"Hardly," the witch laughed like an ice storm. "This was an anticipated outcome. Nothing's perfect on the first try, every scientist knows that. I have a new formula, it's just a matter of changing it out."

"Changing what-"

She didn't finish the sentence. She couldn't. A new variety of agony came to life deep within her, like being torn apart from the inside. It was centered in her chest, below her sternum, but as the second hand convulsed with the passage of time, she realized it was… moving. Upwards, climbing her throat, a hundred pikes driving into her flesh over and over. Her stomach clenched in revulsion, her limbs trembled, her hands made white fists in the sand. And still it came, working its way into her mouth, choking her, bathing her tongue in blood. A scream burned inside her as the centipede pushed its way past her lips, ripping through her as soon as pressure was removed from her vocal chords. With a sick splattering noise the insect fell to the floor, writhing for a moment before the life left it entirely. Not that she noticed. Copper and red coated her mouth and as she retched more came up to join it. Dripping over her tongue, falling in viscous beads.

Wakefulness returned to her. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins as a singular objective took over her mind. Run. Shaking badly, she pushed herself to her feet, not even bothering to wipe the blood from her mouth. The flavor and pain mixed together, churning her gut, repulsing and inescapable. The force of her vomiting sent her back to the ground, smearing her whole face with granules of silica stuck in a plaster of red. Acid burnt in the holes left by the centipede's legs, introducing her to a new torture. It hurt. It hurt so badly all she could do was curl up, wishing it away. She didn't even notice a fresh insect approach, undulating, red legs glinting in the darkness. For just a second it tickled her ear, nudging black hair away from the entrance. Terror and pain consumed her, then the centipede dove inside and something else joined the mixture.

Magic twisted in her mind, bending it, breaking it. The pain stopped being important. The fear was quenched. All ability for independent thought left her and once again she stood. Only this time there was no wavering, nothing but certainty and obedience. Irrelevant wounds in her throat closed up and once again her body expelled blood, spraying the sand in ruby. It ran down her front, over her lips, off her chin and onto her shirt. She didn't care. Meaningless, it was all meaningless. Only the void mattered, hungry and yawning, waiting to be filled by objectives. The witch's laughter echoed inside her.

"Now, how do you feel?"

"I am ready."

"Excellent. If there is ever anything else, anything at all, you will return to me. I cannot afford more set backs; every moment makes Crona stronger and thus more difficult to control. It is paramount we collect data on the Black Blood. Do you understand? Do you know what you must do?"

"I will tell you where to find Soul Evans. I will not fail."

"Of course you won't. After all, you don't have a choice anymore. Now go. I require my results quickly."

* * *

The stairs up to the DWMA central building were daunting, long and steep and covered in traps meant for magic. She blinked at them, tilting her head until her hair fell across her face. Her neck let out a loud snap. Her stomach lurched. Her mind felt like a murky pool, half knowing what she was about to do and the other entirely oblivious. Centipedes squirmed inside her, rising as if to challenge the school's wards, which was inopportune… and yet… Somewhere in the corner of her soul, a part of her wanted the alarms to sound and the guards to swarm. Somewhere else the plans were already congealing. Insects. Instructions. Where are they going? When will they be vulnerable? Get up the stairs. Get to the board.

Fortunately for her mission, it was hot. No one noticed her sweat. Her strain seemed perfectly normal, even though no one could imagine how her insides were burning. How her feet felt like cement. The students bustled by her, up and down, late for class perhaps? Or eager to get home? What time was it? Maybe she had some luck after all. If they were in class or away from the school altogether they wouldn't notice her at the board. Where was that again? How did she know it was there in the first place? Now where were Soul and Maka going next?

"Hey."

The concern that gripped her guts was like a memory of fear. That voice… she knew it. Tentatively, she lifted her amber eyes and met his. Crimson.

"Haven't seen you around before. Are you a new student?"

Soul Eater Evans flashed a pointed smile her way, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. The centipedes curled tightly in her mind as the witch pressed into her consciousness. Giving her back a little of herself, but only a little. Just enough to pretend to be a person. She recomposed her features to give him her most beguiling look, staring up bashfully through long lashes.

"No, no I'm not a student." The truth was easier to tell. "I'm looking for someone, actually."

"Boyfriend?"

"What? Oh, no."

"Really… Wait, I didn't catch your name."

"It's Vera. Just Vera."

His eyes drifted downward for a moment, over her curved body and exposed flesh. Who would've thought these would prove to be so advantageous. Then again, it was known that Soul had a weak spot for attractive girls. The centipedes told her to shift, giving him a better view. He blinked, noticing his own wandering gaze and rectifying it quickly. She pretended to pout a little.

"So Vera," he continued casually, maybe a little embarrassed. "Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help you find them."

"Do you have class? I don't want to hold you up."

"Tch, it's fine. I got time."

"I see…" Her eyes moved back to the board and she licked her lips, frowning a little. What to do, what to do. "I'm not a student, but the person I'm looking for is. You guys go on missions so often; I wanted to see where he was going next- so I could get him something for the trip. But I don't know how to read this board."

"Oh that's easy," said Soul, grinning and moving a little closer. One hand came out of its pocket and extended upward, tapping a tag. "See here, this is me and my partner Maka. And here's the mission: a Kishin Egg going by Arsenic who's targeting hikers on the Washington coast in the United States."

"Oh! Wow, that is easy isn't it." Vera's voice sounded artificial, the insects' glee not quite translating into human intonation. Soul's face tightened a little, perhaps noticing her ruse. Quickly, she moved in towards his chest, as if to look more directly along his arm. He flushed, pulling away.

"Um, yeah, so who is it you're looking for?"

For a moment she just stared up at the board, considering. To take the risk or to play it safe? She didn't actually know anyone at the DWMA, not directly anyway. Any lie she put forth wouldn't be convincing at all. And she couldn't afford to be detained; too much scrutiny and they'd see right through her. Sighing, she took the only option open to her.

"Actually…" Vera tossed her coal black hair out of her eyes, blushing. "This is embarrassing… I'm looking for Crona."

"Crona," Soul repeated, incredulous. He opened his mouth to say more, but she cut him off, speaking quickly.

"My friend's an admirer, but she's not a very confident person. She thinks if she can catch him before he goes on a mission then… you know I'm not entirely sure what she's thinking."

Her laughter echoed through the hall, sounding carefree and rich. Soul looked unconvinced, though whether or not he suspected her of any wrongdoing was hard to say. Amber eyes met crimson, innocent and sweet, and he yielded. Replacing his hand in his pocket, Soul slouched just a little more, looking away from her.

"Crona doesn't go on missions by himself," he muttered, running his tongue over his teeth. His interest was waning; she needed to press before all the opportunity this situation afforded was lost. Thinking quickly, Vera changed tack.

"Will you see him later," she asked in a light voice. "Maybe you could give him a message from me? On my friend's behalf."

"Yeah sure," Soul shrugged. This conversation clearly hadn't gone the way he'd hoped. She didn't care. "What do you want me to tell him?"

Her eyes drifted, her expression going neutral just for a moment. There, slung over his shoulder. A bag… Small, but it would go home with him. It would go to a place she couldn't reach. But was it worth the risk?

"Can I write it down and you give it to him? I think that'd be easier. Now where did I put that paper?"

Vera made a show of digging into her purse and finding a little notebook. It was small, bound with black leather, and very worn. When she'd been herself, she used to make lists and keep notes on the history she'd study in her spare time. Now it was convenient. Jotting something down with a blue pen, she tore out a page near the back, folding it into quarters. Soul reached out, but instead of handing it over, she gave him a mischievous grin. Stepping close again, Vera reached around his back and slid the note into the front, open pocket of his backpack. She lingered there for a moment, staring up into his eyes, as if to communicate attraction.

Inside her flesh the witch's familiars stirred. The messengers she was supposed to deliver to Crona, the spies and probes that infiltrated his mind and brought back secrets. It had been a long time since she'd been able to get one close enough to bite him, and now Soul was going to bring it into their home. Dangerous, but necessary. The magic in her mind kept her from wincing as the centipede's pincers tore through the skin of her forearm, pushing its way out, crawling beneath her shirt arm and along her hand. Blood coated its chitin body and formed a dark oval in the cloth. Wearing black had been a good choice. Then it dropped into Soul's bag with the paper and her task was done.

"Maybe I'll see you around," she teased, withdrawing. Shock kept Soul silent long enough for her to whip around a corner and be gone before he had a chance to recover. It wasn't until she was outside again that the blood finished soaking through her shirt and the crimson droplets on her fingertips reached capacity, leaving a trail down the stairs and into the winding streets of Death City.


	16. Chapter 16

Something inside told him he needed to stop. A tiny, intuitive voice that urged him to reconsider, to put an end to this before it could get out of hand. Playing with Madness was dangerous, and playing with something that amplified Madness was arguably worse. The combination could prove fatal at best. But… he couldn't stop. This thing, whatever it was, was inside him. It was a part of him that lashed out when ignored, a weapon in his mind with a will all its own. He _had_ to know. Which meant first learning how to summon the force that made the Madness spike. Once he could create the energy at will he'd be able to study it. Quantify it and control it. So even though the voice told him not to, even though it begged from inside his skull, Crona kept pushing.

"Come on! Are you seriously gonna keep this up," whined Ragnarok, his lips voluptuous and red against the black of his blade. "It's dinner time, you moron! If you make me wait you're not getting any!"

"Just one more try," Crona answered in a quiet, firm voice, pulling the sharp edge across his forearm.

A line of black swelled to the surface, abstracting quickly and forming an amorphous blob. Focusing, Crona moved that blob to a spot just above the ground before him. A place that was already stained. Thus far, he'd have very limited success. Out of hundreds of attempts spread across the last few days, he'd gotten the blood to form a small, intensely emitting sphere exactly three times. Once he'd managed to summon the "vines," coaxing them out from the surface with a slip in control. He did not like the feeling the vines created in his chest, as if everything was broken but that was the only way it could be. Honestly he didn't much care for the sphere either. Yet these things, the formations of his blood, were evidence of the force inside him. They emerged in response to some energy he released. And that energy was precisely what he needed to understand.

It seemed the more exhausted he was, the more cooperative the Black Blood became. Which wasn't altogether surprising; Madness felt like a default state when he got too tired. Like it was a tide inside him that he just couldn't hold back anymore. And the pane between past and present thinned. Some reflection of himself coming out to play, a version with fewer inhibitions and a singular purpose. Given how worn out he felt just now, Crona had high hopes for this last push. He exhaled slowly, tilting his head downward and narrowing his gaze.

"Fine. But then we're going back, understand!"

"Yes Ragnarok," he whispered, frowning. "I understand."

The blood shivered as an old certainty breathed in his mind. Those words, I understand, they were special in a way he didn't know how to explain. Some unpleasant sensation clenched in his gut, a feeling he'd done his best to suppress in the past. Now though… something told him he was close. All he had to do was keep going. Further than before, to the dark place in his mind. The phrase stirred a memory inside him, something he needed to hold onto. Something that swallowed. For what had to be the thousandth time, Crona imagined the abyss. He was standing on the edge of a cliff and staring into a seething darkness both right before him and far below. In the darkness there was Madness and in the Madness there was power. A power that harnessed the Madness and a Madness that devoured the power. What had the voice said?

Dissolve in Madness.

Harden with Madness.

He could feel the shell forming around his blood like a cyst in his mind. Slowly, the shapeless, hovering liquid smoothed into a sphere. Crystallizing. The energy it released as it did so hit him like a gust of wind and Crona inhaled sharply, shaking in the sudden cold. This was new, but he couldn't focus enough to feel concern. Not just now. There were too many other things to think about. His inhibitions were gone.

Rain started to fall out of the sky in large, fat drops of ice water that warmed in his hair before sliding down his face. Darkness seethed around him like the guts of some mammoth being, oozing a thick liquid with a red sheen. The walls reached out with gummy hands. And still the sphere of blood, hovering before him like a beacon of Madness. He knew where he was, he just didn't understand how he'd gotten there.

"Very good Crona. You're doing well."

Her voice rang in his head. He could see her just behind him, arms folded, smiling a cruel smile.

"Now concentrate. The Black Blood is a part of you. It will respond to your soul wavelength. Tell it what to do. Use it. Kill with it."

"How am I supposed to do that," he asked, unblinking. Lady Medusa reached around his shoulders, resting her hand over his pounding heart. His face was entirely blank, his mind cracked open and exposed.

"You know how. Remember before in Dr. Stein's lab? Push like you did then. Go past where you have to stop."

"I'm scared."

Her yellow nails lengthened, transforming into tiny snakes that hissed and bit. Slowly, she brought them to his throat. He gasped as they coiled around his neck, whispering at his jaw line, choking him. One sank needle like fangs into his flesh and set the world spinning. It burnt like acid in his veins and he wanted to cry out. Yet his expression didn't change in the slightest; he remained open, waiting for her. This was, after all, the way the world worked. She was his order in the chaos.

"Good. That fear is who you are. Pay attention Crona. What do you want it to do?"

A sharp hiss passed over his lips as something inside snapped, a gash like smile breaking across his face. The sphere of blood trembled before him just like the Little One. She was right- she was always right. Vines peeled away from the black surface, waving in the air like infant serpents all his own. Of course, they weren't snakes, but like him they were his mother's offspring. He could feel them deep in his stomach. Their thorns punctured his gut and still he didn't react. Wordlessly he told the vines what he wanted. They grew, inching outward, climbing the trees on either side of Crona. Now the thorns were digging into bark too. Now the trees could share his feelings.

"Excellent. You do understand, don't you. A being such as yourself cannot exist within the order of this world. Rip it apart. Create a world where nothing lines up."

Yes. That sounded right. That sounded like something he should do.

" **Crona snap out of it!"**

Something like a tiny steel ball cracked on the top of his skull. Crona yelped, gasping as if he was coming up from underwater and blinking frantically. The sun was back out and the park was dry. It was hot and yet he couldn't stop himself from shivering. His body felt completely spent and his mind felt worse. Only the confusion kept him upright at all.

"Ragnarok!"

"Don't you ever do that again! You hear me?"

"Ragnarok, what happened? All I remember is-"

"Something messed up, that's what happened! You spaced out, which isn't all that weird, and then- what does it matter?! It was gross!"

"Gross?"

Crona glanced up at the trees. At the deep gashes in their trunks… So that had been real. His blood had done that. The question was: had it really turned into thorns? Was that possible? And how had it happened? Regardless, Ragnarok was right, it had been… gross. He didn't like the way it felt, not even a little. Sap oozed from the bark, glinting in the afternoon sun, as if the trees were crying. No, not crying. They were bleeding. He'd hurt them. It wasn't killing them, exactly, but there was something he'd been trying to accomplish. A twisted hunger he'd been trying to sate.

Something wet rolled down his cheek, causing him to start. Slowly, trembling, he reached up to touch it. The rain hadn't been real, so what was- blood. It was blood. His fingertips shone with black.

He couldn't control the shaking in his body. Couldn't stop the iron as it closed around his ribs. Her snakes still around his neck. He couldn't breathe. Biting into the side of his cheek, Crona stumbled over to his bag and pulled out an amber bottle. After a moment of struggling with the cap, Ragnarok let out a string of profanity and took it from him. Releasing the lid with much more precision than one would've expected from such thick hands, he spat another insult and handed the bottle back to Crona. Unable to express anything other than terror, he saved his gratitude for later and tossed a single, off white pill into his mouth, swallowing it dry. It tasted painfully bitter in the back of his throat. Nevertheless, the action itself began to calm him and, after a few minutes, he could feel the apathy start to seep into his mind.

Another drop followed the first, reaching capacity and dripping off his sharp chin. It splashed in the dirt, a yawning window into the void. Quickly, he wiped the rest of it from his face, paling with fresh fear

"Ragnarok," he started again, voice shaking. "What are we g-going to do? W-what do we tell Maka and t-the others?"

"Psht! How dumb can you get. Nothing, moron! You'll be out on the street before you can start stuttering."

"But I-"

"You what? So far you went off over a rabbit, lost your shit fighting some ice lady, picked up working on the Black Blood where your mom left off, and now you're fucking around with whatever the hell just happened! Just how much of your freakishness do you think they're gonna put up with? What do you think they're gonna do when they find out?"

"Maka will-"

"If you keep going with that sentence I'm gonna vomit all over your face! You just proved that dipshit with the white hair right! She'd be as angry as any of them! Besides, your dumb friends should be the last thing you think about. At best you're the Reaper's charity project, the rest of them never wanted you here. They kill people like you! They kill people who do shit like that!"

Ragnarok thrust his tiny fist towards the trees. Beads of sap ran down their bark freely now, their pulse evidenced by the glinting light. Crona swallowed hard, biting his lower lip and grasping at his arm. He couldn't remember what had happened, exactly, even though it had been only moments ago. But the _feeling_ of it, the sensation of whatever force brought forth the vines coursing through him, lingered in his mouth and nose like a terrible smell. Like the hunger he'd felt in the dark place. Anguish ached inside his chest, the desire to go back to the way things were before he'd started the research gnawing. And yet he couldn't regret it. This thing was inside him; he _had to know_. Near as he could tell, this incident only proved that further. How could he control what he didn't understand?

"I don't believe they'd kill me," he whispered, looking down. "Not for this. You're right though, they would be angry. They'd stop me from working on the Black Blood and I can't let that happen. Not yet."

"You try anything like this again and _I_ will stop you!"

"No, I won't," he breathed, shaking his head. The fear was contained for now, but still it screamed in his chest, warning him. "It scared me, Ragnarok. I won't do it again."

A sharp blow to his temple sent stars winking across his vision, communicating his weapon partner's approval.

"Don't think any of this means you're skipping dinner! If we don't eat now you're not sleeping for the next week!"

* * *

"I'm home," Soul announced loudly, closing the apartment door and dumping his bag in the closest chair. Maka greeted him with a disapproving look, her eyes flicking to the clock meaningfully.

"A little late, isn't it," she said, returning her attention to the book in her hands.

"Yeah, I guess it's too late for curry," he shot back, ignoring the insinuation. "Where's Crona? He back in his room?"

"No, he said he was going to do some work after class."

"Over at Stein's?"

"I didn't ask. So what do you plan on making?"

Soul sighed heavily, grabbing an apron and rolling up his sleeves. Maka had been cold since Crona's incident with the tomato soup. Which he got it some extent, he had lost his cool a little and he understood that that had upset the Demon Swordsman. What he didn't understand is how exploding soup wasn't the bigger issue. But no one wanted to talk about that. His meister was being distant at best and passive-aggressive at worst. Crona was hardly around and when he was home, he acted like a kicked puppy. Together, they were doing their best to make him feel guilty. Which he didn't. Yes, he felt badly for the outburst; he hadn't meant to upset the pink haired meister. This didn't change his opinion that researching the Black Blood was a bad idea. It didn't make him suddenly comfortable with the Madness that sparked in his blood whenever Crona got overly ambitious.

"How do noodles sound," he offered, going for a pot and pulling some ramen out of the refrigerator.

"Unhealthy."

"Casserole?"

"Takes too long."

"Tacos?"

"Too messy."

"Alright I'm done," Soul said, setting the pot decisively on the stovetop and rounding on Maka. She continued to stare at her book, ignoring him to the best of her ability. Which only enflamed the scythe's agitation. "Can we just talk about this?"

"What, about dinner?"

"No, damn it, about Crona!"

Maka snapped her book closed, tension spreading across her face. Her gaze fixed on the blank television screen, lips puckering. She did not want to talk about Crona, but Soul was past caring. He'd put up with enough playing the waiting game, now was the time for action.

"I think you've said enough on the subject," she hissed, still not looking at him.

"Do you want to hear about my day? It was pretty normal, you were around for most of it, except for the part just a little ago where my scar hurt so much I thought it had split open."

A small gasp slid over Maka's lips, her eyes blinking rabidly as fear worked its way onto her face. Soul grinned at her discomfort.

"Yeah, you know what that means. To you maybe it's no different from extra credit or something. But I have to _feel_ it. I have to deal with the fallout when it goes wrong."

There was a long, thick silence. Stubbornness and pride held the two in a stalemate, each pressing against the other in a battle of wills. For a moment it seemed as though the conversation was already finished. As though no resolution was even possible. Then Maka faltered.

"It's his body Soul," she muttered plaintively, chancing a glance at him. "Is it so unreasonable for him to want to understand it?"

"I'm not saying that it's unreasonable," he frowned, leaning heavily on the countertop. "Just that it's dangerous. Am I seriously the only person who can see how messed up this is? How bad it could get?"

Maka swallowed without comment. A flush rose in her cheeks, though whether it was indicative of shame or anger was anyone's guess. Soul sighed, looking to the door for guidance.

"Come on Maka, give me something. It's not like I'm just trying to be difficult. I'm worried about him. I worry just as much as you do and I don't want things to go south."

"What do you want me to do about it," she snapped suddenly, turning to face him, fingers gripping the book spine threateningly.

"Well, for starters you could try actually saying something. So far you've just enabled everything he does. I get wanting to be supportive, but you're taking it too far. Crona trusts you, if you tell him something is over the line he'll listen."

"He trusts you too…"

"Everything I say just sounds like an attack. He just gets all defensive and then it's like talking to a rock."

"I'm not going to tell him to stop the research."

"I'm not asking you too. I know he's not going to stop and I understand why it's important work. He just… listen, whatever he's doing right now, whatever experiments he's been running, he needs to cut back on the Madness. If he doesn't, then I am going to Stein. This is too dangerous to be left up to us."

"I know," Maka sighed heavily, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I do know. And the truth is I don't like him working so much either. He's acting different, more withdrawn and secretive. I'm not sure if anything I say will have an effect."

"He's pushing too hard is all. We just need to talk him down a bit. You know, bring him back to real life."

Soul started suddenly, as if remembering something. Then a grin came onto his face and he shot Maka a mischievous look.

"Speaking of, guess what else happened today."

"You and Black Star had a competition to see who can eat the most," she answered with an eye roll.

"Not even close. I met this chick by the mission board. At first I thought she was hitting on me- and maybe she was, it was super unclear- then she asked for Crona."

"Crona? Why?"

"Get this: "her friend" is a secret admirer."

"Humf," Maka snorted, her expression darkening possessively. Soul chuckled.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that. This chick was hot too, much better endowed, if you catch my drift. She was all like "can you give him this note from me?" It was really weird…" he trailed off, distracted from his teasing by a stray thought.

"Did she give you a note," she pried, protective anger bubbling inside her.

"Yeah it's in my bag," Soul answered absently. He started when she got up, crimson gaze following her critically over to the chair where his things were. "Maka, what're you doing?"

"I'm just taking a quick peak."

"Maka," he chided, folding his arms. "That's not cool. You shouldn't be looking at Crona's things. Don't you trust him?"

"Of course I do! I'm only- ew! God Soul, what do you have in here!"

"What do you mean," he asked defensively.

"It's sticky! Uhg this is so gross. Wait… I think I found it."

"Maka-"

They both stopped dead when she pulled out the paper, their hearts going still. Brown-red stood out vividly on the white background, congealed globules of a slightly brighter shade shining on Maka's fingers. With a squeal of disgust Maka flung the page in a random direction, moving to the sink and frantically washing her hands. Not paying too much attention to her, Soul went after the paper, picking it up very carefully.

"She wasn't bleeding," he muttered, scrutinizing the stains. "At least, I didn't see any blood. What the hell…"

"Clearly she was bleeding! How did it get everywhere! What, did you let her stick her hand in your bag or something?"

"This chick was weird Maka. I really thought she was hitting on me, then she just wanted to talk about Crona, and the next thing I know she's dropping this note right into my bag. She seemed, like, I don't know, off. Like she wasn't really there. I had no idea she was bleeding; she didn't act like anything hurt."

"What does it say?"

"What?"

"The note! What does it say? I really doubt it has anything to do with a secret admirer."

Soul looked down, squinting at the ink. Then his face went pale and he gave Maka a sharp look. She tensed, throwing the towel she'd been using to dry her hands into the sink and coming around to his side. Together, they stared transfixed at the bloodstained words:

 _I know what you are and I know what you're doing. Now tell me what you fear. Be specific._

"Hello."

They both started, spinning to face the door. Crona stood there, one hand resting on the knob and the other clutching his school things to his chest. He took in their terrified faces and his own features knit in confusion.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Maka answered too quickly, grabbing the paper from Soul's hands and crumpling it in her fist. Crona watched her, frown deepening.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

It was not nothing, he could tell. Actually, whatever had happened must've been upsetting; both she and Soul looked agitated. His storm cloud eyes searched, but Maka avoided them, flushing a little. So instead he locked gazes with Soul, who's stare was hard and cold. A ball of worms dropped into his stomach. He knew what that meant, knew why. Black Blood on his fingertips. Trees weeping sap from deep cuts. Of course Soul knew about that- or at least he suspected. Flushing deeply, Crona ducked away, slinking back to his room and setting his things on the little desk. The partners exchanged meaningful looks, then followed.

"How was your day," probed Maka, trying to lighten the mood. The question felt thick and awkward on her tongue. Still, she had to try. "Did your research go well?"

"Y-yes," he answered, not looking at them. Now it was Soul's turn to frown.

"What did you do?"

He meant it to be casual, the sort of off hand question one might ask a friend over coffee or something. It came out accusatory. Crona stiffened, hunching over in shame. Ragnarok chose that moment to erupt from between his shoulder blades, placing his little hands on Crona's spine and leaning towards Soul.

"Bashed his face on a computer screen. It was _so_ boring! I wanted to kill myself with how boring it was. And then he can't figure something out so he looses his shit and I have to get his stupid pills…"

The weapon trailed off, slowly oozing down Crona's back. Clearly the pills hadn't quite worn off yet. And Ragnarok just spent 100% of the energy he'd saved up coming out to tell them how bored he was. It was plausible that the burst of Madness from earlier was the result of a panic attack. Yet something about it didn't sit well. Soul knew what Crona's panic attacks felt like and this was significantly more intense. Easily the worst it had been since the Little One. That was either one hell of a panic attack or…

 _I know what you're doing._

Soul's gaze narrowed. What _was_ Crona doing? Maka, on the other hand, saw absolutely nothing wrong with Ragnarok's story. She moved to his side, giving him a gentle pat just above Ragnarok, then moving her hand up to the back of his neck. Crona shuddered at the cool touch of her fingers and gave her a tiny, sideways smile.

"Are you doing okay," she asked in a rare, soft voice. Her hair slid across her shoulders as she tried to catch Crona's eye. He gave her a little nod.

"Yes, I'm okay. Ragnarok helped me."

"Do you want to have dinner or just go to bed?"

"Ragnarok said he was really looking forward to dinner."

"Alright then. Soul," she tossed him an expectant look. Which he met with a critical stare, causing her to wilt just a little. "Do you need any help making food? Should I run to the store?"

"You're awful helpful tonight," he commented, eyes flicking down to her fist meaningfully. Shaking her head just a little, Maka licked her lips and swallowed. He sighed. "No, I'm just gonna make some noodles. It's too late for anything else. Crona, do you want an egg with yours?"

He started, turning to face Soul fully. Their eyes locked and each knew the other was hiding something yet neither wanted to risk divulging their own secret. Soul vowed to bring it up later. Crona hoped he wouldn't have to deal with it at all.

Focusing on the task at hand, the pink haired meister jiggled his head a little in affirmation. Grinning, Soul nodded back. Whatever had happened with him earlier, he reasoned it couldn't have been too bad; Crona seemed genuinely okay if not a bit woozy. That note, however… Stein and Kid were going to hear about the note. And the girl. Something else was going on, something besides the research. Maybe Crona knew, maybe he didn't. For now, though, they'd just have dinner like normal roommates. Pretend, just for night, that everything actually was fine.


	17. Chapter 17

_What do you fear?_

No… no I don't want to do this.

 _Be specific. What scares you? What frightens you more than anything else?_

I don't want to say anything to you.

 _Come now Crona, you can tell me._

Why do you care? Why are you here?

 _Because I want to help you. I want to see you become what you were meant to be. You can already feel it inside you, the Pull, driving you forward into the abyss. Jump. Tell me what you fear._

I won't.

 _Don't make this difficult; I will find out regardless. I will push. I will control you like she did. And you're going to tell me how._

"No! No please! Please Lady Medusa!"

Crying made his throat raw, just like the skin around his wrists. But no matter how much he screamed and squirmed, the leather straps wouldn't give and his mother would not answer. How long had he been there, strapped to that chair? Hours? Days? All Crona knew was that he'd been a bad child. He didn't know when or in what way, but he'd done something terrible. This was his punishment. It was an awful punishment, especially cruel, even by Lady Medusa's standards. What was coming… he'd do anything to avoid it. She knew that and still she let him beg and bleed. Currently the Black Blood was hard around his open flesh, but every now and then a drop would slip through. Splash onto the ground with a sick noise. Something like a hiccup escaped his lips and he let his head fall forward, allowing a single tear to run along his nose.

"Please…"

"I have a mission for you."

He looked up at the sound of her voice, his reality bending around her form as she emerged from the shadows. Lady Medusa gave him a cold, insidious smile, and his insides turned to ice. Trembling, he wilted under her yellow gaze.

"I'll do it. Whatever it is I will do it."

"Tut tut, my child," she cooed, wagging her finger at him. "You've said that to me before, but when I told you to eat those humans' souls you refused. You hesitated and missed your opportunity to kill the girl. You have lost my trust, Crona."

"I-I-I said I was sorry. I w-won't do it again. P-please let me go on the mission. I'll do a-anything you say."

"Yes you will," she whispered, moving to a table to his left.

There was some kind of machine there, a sort of black box with a digital screen. Lady Medusa adjusted some knobs and the numbers spun. Out of the corner of his eye, Crona recognized a frequency and wavelength. He could also see the needle, the way it flashed in the dull light as she slid it into her own arm. Unlike his, her blood was red. It glinted like liquid ruby, streaming into a glass vial. From this vial she measured out maybe twenty milliliters into a plastic syringe, which she then hooked up to a line. The tubing extended the length of the table and, with a little pressure from the pump in which Lady Medusa had placed the syringe, it began to fill. Satisfied, she checked one more set of dials and then pressed a button.

Blood made its way through the line to a nozzle in a glass case, which came to life, humming, vibrating almost imperceptibly. From its tip a fine thread began to spin, like silk that thickened into a snakes head. A body followed, coalescing from the thin string until an entire serpent hung suspended in the air. An arrow decorated its back. Crona trembled. Then it dropped, letting out its first hiss as it hit the tabletop. With a tenderness she never showed Crona, Lady Medusa reached into the glass container and retrieved the snake, which curled affectionately around her wrist. Slowly she brought it to her child, who thrashed and screamed with renewed urgency.

"No! No please Lady Medusa! I won't do it again, I swear! I'll do whatever you say! I'll kill everyone! I promise!"

"I know, Crona, I know. We're going to make sure of it. Stop your struggling, you have no alternative to obedience."

He froze, stiffening as the serpent was placed on his lap. Slowly, it encircled his arm, climbing upward, forked tongue flicking. The snake knew its task and, unlike the meister, had no reservations. Crona didn't mean to have reservations. He didn't want them, they were just there like crying in the back of his mind. Ideas he shouldn't have, compassion for his victims that didn't belong inside him. Of course he didn't know that word at the time, but even then he felt eating human souls was different. That he shouldn't do it. Even though Lady Medusa told him to and everything she said was right. He couldn't make them go away on his own, which was why the snake was coming. It was going to make him a good child, whether he wanted to be one or not. Tightening his lips and scrunching up his eyes, Crona resisted.

Lady Medusa frowned, coming around behind him. Her fingers ran through his pink hair, eliciting a shudder. Then she took a fistful and tugged, cranking Crona's head backwards and exposing his throat. The snake curled around it, tongue whispering at his adam's apple. She brought her teeth close to his ear, hissing.

"Crona, open your mouth."

He gave his head a small, terrified shake, face still contorted. Sighing, she pulled his head back even further, painfully so. Crona whimpered.

"Open your mouth now."

Trembling and crying, he obeyed. At first it was just a little, more like he was unclenching his teeth. Then his lips parted and the snake pressed the pit of its nose between them. But it couldn't fit. Lady Medusa laughed.

"Wider."

There was no other choice. Slowly, breath so shallow and fast he felt light headed, he pulled his teeth apart. In an instant the snake was inside, its scales cool and metallic on his tongue. It pushed forward, down his throat, towards his stomach. Crona tried to scream, to relieve some of the pain, but its body expanded so his vocal chords had no space to vibrate. His windpipe was compressed. He couldn't breathe. He twisted and flailed, blind to the agony in his wrists as the straps bit into his flesh and deaf to the snaps and pops emitting from his joints. Lady Medusa held his head still, one fist still in his hair while the other grasped at his jaw. Preventing him from biting down. It was inside him, the undulation of its muscular body radiating through his entire being. Until it hit his stomach…

At first Crona thought he was going to be sick. Electricity coursed through him and he went rigid. He stretched his mouth wide open to scream but still no sound came out. That was when the cold hit, biting, like a wave of ice crystallizing. He knew what this was, knew what came next. The cold would reach his mind and then there would be no more knowledge. No more thinking. No more Crona. Just her words filling him. Just like the snake. Slowly, he relaxed, going limp in the chair. She moved her hands to either side of his skull, balancing his head on his neck before sliding her fingers to his shoulders. Black Blood welled to the surface to wet the leather that bound him, spilling out and down onto the ground. For a long moment there was nothing but the drips of blood and the sound of breathing.

"Good Crona. That's good. Now… what do you need?"

"I need power."

He answered automatically, voice monotone, ice blue gaze wide and unblinking.

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared of everyone."

"How?"

"Souls. I need to eat souls, every soul."

"Yes, that's right. There is a ghost ship called the Nidhogg in the Baltic Sea. You will know it by the thick mist with which it surrounds itself. Find it and eat every soul onboard."

Lady Medusa leaned forward, bringing her mouth back to his ear to whisper:

"You will do this for your mother."

Everything inside him became solid, like he'd been truly frozen. A shudder ran across his skin and his fingers curled into fists. His eyes closed as his gelatinous mind set around its new reality.

"Yes ma'am, I understand."

* * *

Soul couldn't sleep. Which was an unusual problem because sleep was one of his favorite things. It was reliable, mechanical even. At the end of the day his brain and body shut down and recharged, just like they were designed to. Except today, like a lot of days since Crona had started his research, was different. His mind wouldn't stop buzzing around that girl- Vera. What the hell had she been doing?! How had she been bleeding that much and he hadn't noticed? Her body wasn't that good… And what was with that note? Nervousness crawled in his stomach like something alive, churning and cramping. Nothing about it made any kind of sense. Why the interest in Crona?

Speaking of Crona, what was up with him? He was acting particularly squirrelly, which was saying a lot considering. Of course Soul knew something had happened; he could feel it in his scar, where the Black Blood was centered. The damn thing still hurt, aching as badly as when he'd first been discharged from the infirmary. Another reason he was awake. The Demon Swordsman was picking at something that needed to be left alone. He was digging around in dangerous stuff, and not just for him. Everyone has some Madness, but it doesn't all have the same destructive potential. Stein had found a way to deal with his and Soul trusted he had it at least contained. But Crona… his scar told him that Crona did not.

No matter what he and Maka claimed, that was the truth.

It frustrated him to no end that he seemed to be the only one worried by that. Why couldn't the research just stop before things got out of hand! They'd all be devastated when it happened, why push their luck? At the same time he really did know why they had to keep going. Why Crona had to keep pushing. Soul knew his own Madness, knew what triggered it and how to direct it. Crona didn't. For Crona Madness was a tide. It was either negligible or dominating him. He needed to know- hell, they all needed to know. He wouldn't be safe until then. And thus the research.

Amber eyes and coal black hair. An almost mechanical way speaking, like a machine faking emotion. Blood in his bag, staining a cryptic note: "I know what you're doing." It tied into the research somehow, he just knew it. They hadn't exactly been keeping the whole thing a secret, still, that didn't make it common knowledge. Someone was watching and whoever they were they were pretty keen to see… something. Or maybe it was just that girl Vera. Maybe she was just really weird. Soul doubted that, discounting the notion every time it resurfaced in his swirling mind. She'd have to be both weird and stupid to present herself to the DWMA like that. Crona wasn't the most popular person in Death City, true, but threats to any student of the academy were taken seriously. This held most people at bay. Not this Vera chick, apparently. But if it was just a threat then why was it covered in blood? How had she cut herself so badly without him noticing? Why did she care about Crona's fear?

Maybe it wasn't a threat so much as a message. But for what purpose? A cold ball dropped into Soul's stomach. What if the note wasn't the only thing she'd left in his bag.

In a whirl of white sheets he was up, rubbing fatigue from his eyes and trying to remember where he'd put the damn thing. A brief survey of the room told him it was still by the door, abandoned in the tension that had been their dinner. Hardening his features, Soul slid down the hall, feeling around in the dark. His fingers brushed rough cloth and he squatted by the chair, combing through the bag's pockets. Paper, books, pens that littered the bottom. Dried blood and nothing else. He couldn't decide if he felt disappointed or relieved. On the one hand it lended credence to the theory that Vera was just some Crona-hating weirdo with a hot bod. Yet his gut said something else was up.

He was on his way back to his room when he heard the voice. Soul froze mid stride, frowning. For a long moment he held his breath, listening to the silence. His scar throbbed with renewed urgency, pulsing in the stillness, warning him. Then it came again. Not quite a voice or even a whisper. More like a feeling in his mind, the memory of a voice he didn't recognize saying things he didn't remember.

 _She made you very compliant, didn't she._

"Yes."

Soul jumped, turning sharply. That one he knew; it was Crona's voice. Who was he talking to? Was Maka in there? It hadn't sounded like Maka, or really anything. In fact the more he thought about it the less sure he was that he'd heard another voice at all. Crona, though, definitely spoke.

"I don't want to. Please don't ask me. I… Yes… No, it's because I'm her child…"

That was it. Before he'd really thought it through Soul had his hand on the doorknob and was pushing into Crona's room. The pink haired meister was in bed, sitting upright with his knees tucked to his chest. His face was unusually pale, his eyes wide and unblinking and fixed on the wall directly across from him. His lips moved as he muttered a hushed conversation with whatever was there. Soul's frown deepened and he glanced in that direction. Hanging like some kind of grotesque sculpture, was a centipede. Huge was the wrong word, but it wasn't small either. The chitin body glinted black in the moonlight, the legs flashing blood red. Acting on pure instinct, Soul transformed his arm into a blade and advanced on the insect. It didn't respond in the slightest, didn't even move as he brought the sharp edge close. Then in an instant the thing was gone, cut in half on the floor.

Crona inhaled sharply, arching his back, vacant gaze directed straight up at the ceiling. A wave of pressure pulsed through the room, hitting Soul with almost physical force. The dresser rattled, the lamp on the bedside table trembled, and the water beside the bed rippled. Then there was just silence again. Slowly, Crona brought his head forward, letting the weight of it take his chin to his chest. One breath, a second, and suddenly his eyes went ice blue. Soul could feel it in the air: panic. Quickly, he moved to the edge of the bed, bending to rummage through the drawer on a quest for Crona's meds. The pink haired meister started, turning to face him as best he could while still holding his knees to his chest. Finishing his task, Soul caught Crona's wild gaze and held it with a serious expression.

"It's alright; you were dreaming is all."

"Soul?"

"Yeah, it's me. Do you need these?"

He held out the bottle. Pale blue eyes contemplated it for a moment, then moved back up to meet crimson.

"It… It bit me Soul. I felt it bite me and then I wasn't here anymore."

He wasn't making a lot of sense, but then again, neither did anything else about that night. Tightening his jaw, Soul gave the swordsman a once over. A centipede bite would produce a serious reaction in most anyone; however, Crona's blood was resistant to disease and toxins, so he wasn't sure what to expect. Everything seemed okay… except for some swelling above his collar. Gingerly, he reached forward with his free hand, pulling the fabric away and exposing what looked like small puncture marks near Crona's throat. As he watched, clear liquid began to ooze out of them. The Black Blood expelling any venom and beginning to heal the wound. Setting the pill bottle down in favor of a tissue, Soul folded the paper up and held it to the marks, whiping away what he assumed was puss.

"Are you okay? Do you feel sick? Does it hurt?"

"No… No it doesn't hurt but I… I saw things Soul. There was _someone else_. She was _here_ ," he whispered, leaning towards the demon weapon.

"Who? Did you see Medusa?"

He nodded, swallowing hard.

"I didn't mean to. I didn't think this would happen again."

"Again? Crona what is going on? And don't say nothing."

"I-I don't know. Earlier I-I-"

Soul grabbed his shoulder firmly, looking him in the eye. Crona bit his lip, brow knitting.

"I've been having these dreams, Soul. There's a woman's voice and she asks me what I fear. She doesn't believe me when I tell her everything. Then the memories start and _she's_ there and… Please don't be angry, I don't mean to. I thought they'd stopped but then… All I remember is waking up with it wrapped around my neck and then I was back there and then-then-"

Soul's gut froze, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes went wide. The note, the centipede, someone was getting into Crona's head. Something was trying to manipulate him; for what purpose Soul couldn't say, he just knew it was dangerous. Demon Swordsman Crona was dangerous.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered into the silence, pulling Soul's attention back to the present. With fresh intensity, he gripped the pink haired meister's shoulders.

"Crona I'm not mad, okay? I'm not. But this isn't good. We need to go see Stein, now, before something else happens."

"P-Professor Stein? We'll wake him and Miss Marie up."

"They won't care."

"What about Maka?"

"We need to go now. I'll come back for her. Come on, up you get."

* * *

Silence was a thick smog all around them. A terrible, awful, sick stillness that made Crona want to fidget as Professor Stein drew his blood. Soul was leaning against the wall behind him, eyes like fire on his back, and Miss Marie was bustling nervously in the kitchen. The professor lacked any interest in conversation or even eye contact, so Crona just stared downward. He'd watched the needle go in, and now eyed the Black Blood as it gushed into vial after vial. Yes he could direct it, but it was seeming more and more like it had a will of its own. Some agenda separate from both his and Ragnarok's. A task Lady Medusa had left it, or perhaps something entirely of its own creation. Not for the first time, Crona wondered what was inside of him.

"That's all I need," Professor Stein said in a flat tone, causing Crona to jump.

Without gauze or anything to stop the flow of blood, Stein pulled out the needle. There was no need; it hardened so quickly he wondered if the act was even conscious. The meister blinked, peering up through his bangs. He didn't know if he was supposed to answer questions or if he could ask some. Many burned on the tip of his tongue, but fear and the silence kept him quiet. So instead he continued to watch, taking note of the centrifuge speed, the time, anything to keep him occupied. Anything to ignore why they'd come.

Soul had already explained what he knew, dumped it on Marie as quickly as he could the instant she'd opened the door. Of course, she hadn't understood anything past "Crona's hurt" and in a flurry had them inside, seated, and holding cups of hot tea. She'd tried to touch Crona, to assess the damage herself, but he'd flinched away, avoiding her gaze. That told her everything. Professor Stein was much firmer, grabbing him and rolling up his sleeve as Soul repeated the night's events. It had taken all of Crona's self control to keep his blood fluid as he heard what Soul had seen. He didn't remember talking to the centipede, didn't recall the room shaking or anything like that. Everything had become fuzzy after he'd been bitten, and then it was very clear. The memory, the voice, Lady Medusa and her snake. Just not the rest of it.

Soul still hadn't gone back for Maka…

"What are you looking for," the scythe probed from across the room, arms folded.

"Anything out of the ordinary," Stein answered without taking his eyes off the timer. "If this is like the incident with the rabbit, there should be evidence of magical proteins in Crona's blood. But it will take time."

"You're looking for more than that, aren't you," Crona whispered, swallowing hard. He didn't want to talk about it, but he had to know. What was he supposed to do if he didn't? How was he supposed to deal with it? Stein tilted his head so that the light caught his glasses, hiding his eyes behind a glare. "You're looking to see if… if the someone in my dreams is a witch."

It took a long time for Professor Stein to answer, and when he did it was more like he was dodging the question. Nothing in his demeanor betrayed any sort of emotion and his tone was entirely flat, but still both Soul and Crona felt a chill.

"You got here very quickly, which is a good thing. I'm hopeful that, with a fresher sample, the analysis will be more revealing."

"What analysis? How do you find out if it's magic or not?"

"Proteins associated with magic are not difficult to isolate," he started, returning his gaze to the centrifuge. "They have unusually hydrophobic surfaces, which explains their toxicity to non-witches. In human serum the proteins aggregate and induce a massive immune response which can prove fatal. A witch's blood, on the other hand, contains surfactants. Thus, we can separate magical from endogenous proteins using a simple hydrophilic column such that the magical proteins wash through with the mobile phase and the rest bind to the stationary phase. Once separated, these proteins can be exposed to a high purity quartz crystal. Magic is a form of energy that is known to accumulate within, or "charge," the silicon-oxygen matrix over time. This concentrates the signal from millions of proteins that emit only a small amount of energy per second into a single source.

"Once this is done we can measure the magical energy. It, like Madness and the soul, has a wavelength, which we can scan for. If the proteins are emitting in a specific range, then we conclude they were generated as a result of magic. Additionally, each witch has a specific wavelength associated with their magic. If the lamda of this sample matches that of the other, then it is probable that both episodes were triggered by the same individual."

"The voice from my dreams?"

"Possibly."

Crona bit his tongue, shrinking back into his chair. There was another possibility, though he didn't know if it had occurred to Professor Stein or not. The thought of it made him shiver and he wondered which would be worse: to have someone crawling around in his mind like Lady Medusa, or to be… No, no he couldn't be. There was no way. Yet the idea haunted him, a shadow just past where he could see, whispering the most terrifying question of all. A shiver ran through him and, without thinking, he reached for Maka's hand. But she wasn't there…

"Hey Professor," Soul cut in, noticing Crona's distress. Also, he had something he wanted to tell Stein without the sword meister around. "I left the centipede in Crona's room. Do you need to baby sit this or can you come with me to grab it? I don't want to mess anything up. Besides, I need to get Maka anyway."

"Let me get this pellet soaking to extract the proteins," he said after a moment of consideration. "They should be ready to go on the column by the time we get back. Crona, why don't you go spend some time with Marie. I'm sure she's worried about you."

"Actually," Crona mumbled, chewing on his lower lip. Then his resolve turned to a thick numbness inside his mind and he met Professor Stein's eye. "Can I… go try and read my mother's journals?"

* * *

Most of their journey passed in silence as Stein's brain processed and catalogued information Soul couldn't even begin to guess at. Part of him was irritated, but generally he found the situation agreeable. Though heinously early in the morning, the streets still had ears. The last thing any of them needed was new rumors about the sword meister running around and starting a panic. The Academy was a formidable force, nevertheless, an angry mob would prove challenging to handle. When they finally reached their apartment, Stein went straight to Crona's room without so much as blinking, leaving the weapon to deal with his meister's wrath alone. Sighing, Soul resigned himself to his fate.

"Hey Maka," he muttered, wrapping his knuckles on her door loudly.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Her voice was slurred and muffled, as if she was speaking directly into the pillow. Soul braced himself.

"Something's happened. To Crona."

"What?! Where is he?!"

In less than a second her door was open and Maka was plowing over him.

"He's not here," Soul said, pressing his back to the wall to let her by. "I took him to Stein's already."

Maka turned to stare right at him, so he could watch her features change from terrified to absolutely livid.

"Why didn't you wake me up! Why am I just now hearing about this!"

"Soul did the right thing." The two started when the professor emerged from Crona's room. One hand slid a sample bag into his lab coat while the other pulled out a cigarette. He didn't ask if he could smoke inside. "It's important that I see Crona as quickly as possible after these sorts of things happen. Now, what is it you didn't want Crona to hear?"

"You mean…" Maka's anger faded a little and she looked from one to the other.

"This girl came looking for Crona earlier today, and she left a note in my bag. It said some weird stuff- and she must've cut herself because it was covered in blood."

"Who was the girl?"

"Her name's Vera."

"Did you recognize her?"

"I would now."

"What did she want?"

"She was pretty keen to find out when Crona would be out of the city."

"And the note?"

"It said she knows what Crona is and what he's doing…" Soul swallowed, hesitating. "It said "Tell me what you fear," or something like that."

"It said: "I know what you are and I know what you're doing. Now tell me what you fear. Be specific." I think it's talking about yours and Crona's research."

"Interesting… Has Crona mentioned these dreams before?"

"Dreams," Maka repeated, frowning in confusion.

"He said he's been having dreams where a woman asks him what he's scared of. I figured he'd already talked to you about it."

"No… he hasn't mentioned anything to me…"

"So you don't know for how long they've been occurring."

Maka's gaze fell to the floor as she tried to hide how hurt she felt. Stein took no notice, blowing a cloud into their hallway. Soul sighed through his nose, trying to process.

"I'll be blunt, I think there's a witch interested in Crona. Specifically, I think, in returning him to his former self and unleashing his Madness. She's been using her familiars, in this case centipedes, to gather information, possibly from Crona himself."

"Are you suggesting Crona's helping this witch," Maka snapped, fury returning to her face.

"Not consciously, no. However, these dreams are troubling. I will need to meet with Lord Death about this."

"What do you want us to do," asked Soul, holding an arm out in front of Maka as a signal that she should save whatever biting remark was on the tip of her tongue. "We have that mission coming up and Crona was supposed to come. Is that still on?"

"Hmm, for the moment assume yes, though I don't think it's wise for Crona to accompany you. It's not my decision though. Like I said, I'll need to speak with Lord Death. He may wish to see you, so be ready. In the meantime, don't mention that note to Crona. If the witch realizes we've discovered her she may try something drastic and harm him. We need more information."

"What about the Black Blood? Professor, his Madness has gotten out of control since he started the research."

"Soul!"

"Why do you say that? Has your own Black Blood been reacting?"

"Yeah, you could say that… I don't think it's a good idea to keep going with it."

"Interesting. I will mention it to Lord Death, and keep a closer eye on Crona. The research itself must continue, especially if there's a witch interested in the Black Blood, but whether or not Crona remains involved is, again, not my decision."

"Where is he," Maka cut in, giving Soul a reprimanding look. He scoffed, gaze sliding to the wall as if to commiserate with it.

"Back at my lab. He wanted to look through Medusa's journals. Seems very determined."

"Thank you," she brushed him off. "Please excuse me."

And with that she was off, unhindered by her bare feet and pajamas. For a moment the men just stared after her in shock. Then they, too, started the journey back to Professor Stein's lab.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: So my computer (which refuses to back up to anything) did a frightening thing recently in which the screen pixilated then slowly went black. Needless to say there is concern. Also, I had a bunch of this written before I started posting it, allowing for regular-ish updates. And now I've caught up to myself. Together, I think it's both wise and necessary to get these chapters up as I finish them so they're not sitting on a possibly sinking ship. Between trying to finish up lab work, writing a thesis, and a book chapter (for a recent advances in drug delivery book), updates here will slow down even more. But they will not stop! Please be patient with me, though.**

 **I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for reading my fiction and for your very kind reviews. They really do keep me motivated, help me determine what in my writing is effective and what's not getting across, and give me ideas. I do my best to incorporate any feed back you give me and keep doing what you seem to enjoy. Reading them is something I really look forward to and they are super appreciated. So thank you all!**

* * *

The pile of journals against the wall was formidable, notebook after notebook stacked in columns one right after the other which formed a mass of maybe a fifty tomes of research. Even if they weren't all blank, learning their secrets would've been difficult. Lady Medusa's magic made it impossible… except for Crona. But to him the pile was more than just formidable; it was insurmountable. Accepting that he was even capable of looking at them, let alone deciphering them, meant he had to admit something about himself. It meant he'd need to embrace the one thing he didn't want to define him anymore. Because to see past the white pages and into the knowledge they contained, you needed to be Lady Medusa or, apparently, her child.

For what felt like a long time after Soul and Professor Stein left, Crona just stood there. He'd been so motivated before, driven by a hunger that was becoming too familiar. Miss Marie had wanted to talk and he'd avoided it, insisting that he'd be out in a little and closing the door. He didn't want to hurt her, he just needed to know. The only light came from the computer screen, bright but sharp, cutting through the space in defined beams. Their wavelength spectrum (WS) instrument was in shadows, as was his objective. Just beyond the light. Just past where he felt comfortable.

He had to get started. They'd be back soon. He needed to move. Swallowing hard, Crona took a step forward, then another, and another, until he was a few paces away from the pile. The question wasn't where to start so much as what to ask. If he was right (and he was so afraid of being right), the journals would direct him. They knew what each contained and which one he'd need. Somehow, they knew. And once he was inside they would tell him. Shivers started in his stomach, trembling and making him feel sick. This couldn't be right, it just couldn't. It couldn't be true. Yet…

"I want to know what I am," he whispered to the black spines. "I want to start at the beginning. How was I born? Where did I come from?"

There was a noise as the journals shifted, quivering at his request. Crona's breath caught, his pupils dilating in response to the danger. Still, he didn't back away. He jumped when one pulled itself from the pile, but he didn't back away. The book moved lethargically through the air before dropping with a loud thump onto the ground. Crona squeaked.

"Are you alright? Do you need me to come in," Miss Marie asked through the door.

"I'm f-fine," he called back over his shoulder. The only thing worse than doing what he was doing was being caught doing it.

"Alright…" She sounded unconvinced. "Well, I'm just out here if you need anything."

"Th-thank you."

Slowly, he bent down and picked the journal up, holding it flat in anticipation and focusing on his question again. Nothing happened. Crona couldn't decide if he felt relieved or disappointed by that. Then something like static tingled in his fingers and the book opened, pages flipping until it found whatever it was looking for. Biting his lip, he stared into the white, watching it yawn out around him, feeling it take him apart like he was made of salt. Until the white enveloped him and he stood in the void. Alone and yet not. _She_ was there.

Bare feet with yellow nails, black clothing, serpents coiled around her arms, and lamp like eyes. Lady Medusa. Terror turned his insides to lead and he lost all resolve to do anything at all. He wanted to retreat, to go back to the safety of Professor Stein's laboratory. To Miss Marie in the kitchen and Maka at the apartment. The journal wouldn't let him. It held fast around his mind, feeding off his panic, consuming him. She smiled, tilting her head ever so slightly to one side.

"Well what do we have here…"

Her voice, her mannerisms, everything about her was exactly as he remembered. She advanced, reaching yellow tipped fingers towards his face, grasping his chin and turning his head so she could look at him. Crona didn't resist- _couldn't_. He was shaking too badly.

"You're not me, which isn't possible. My magical wavelength is needed to unlock these pages; not even my sisters could be here. How then have you come? What are you that you can be here?"

"You- you're- you're not real," he whispered. The lack of punishment for speaking emboldened him and he pulled away. "You're not real."

"I'm not Medusa, if that's what you mean," she said, frowning. "That doesn't mean I'm not real. I am the contents of this journal. Now tell me what you are."

"Demon Swordsman Crona, Lady Medusa's child," he said instinctively, responding to her sharp tone with obedience. He didn't want to, but he had to. This seemed to please her and she folded her arms and popped a hip out to one side, smiling again.

"I see, that explains it then. Or at least, as much of it as can be explained. Even a naturally born child shouldn't be able to read me, but you weren't born. You were engineered from my flesh and magic. You are a very special child. Now then, what is it that you would like to know?"

He couldn't stop shaking, couldn't convince himself that this _wasn't_ Lady Medusa. That there wouldn't be consequences for asking questions. That orders were not imminent and he didn't need to prepare himself for them. Before, outside, he'd felt in control, confident, like a person. Then… Now… He could feel the submissiveness inside him, the need to obey like a biological imperative. Her smirk stretched, amusement at his discomfort glittering in her yellow eyes.

"There's no need to be shy," she cooed in a soft, sweet voice. He flinched. "Medusa knows herself well and was very careful when she created me. I cannot harm you and I cannot lie to you. Ask me your questions."

There it was, the demand. Crona responded immediately.

"What do you mean by engineered? I wasn't born?"

"Not in a traditional sense, no. Would you like to see?"

"See?"

For a second he thought to look around, but it was unwise to take his eyes from his mother. Promises from her meant nothing. Threats were certain, of course. Promises were just another form of manipulation. The journal pressed, eager to share its knowledge. Like anything Lady Medusa created, it was motivated to fulfill its purpose.

"How you were created. This is the first journal, the beginning of your existence. In fact, this is when I started encrypting my journals. Were another witch to learn the details of your existence they might find a way to destroy or steal you, and I could not allow that. I began when a fetus that accepted the Black Blood matured enough to survive on its own."

The white began to run like water colors, forming an image around them. Crona jerked his head frantically, but found he couldn't move. White became black and black became tanks filled with clear, pale blue liquid and bubbles. Babies were suspended inside, rows and columns of hundreds of babies. Lady Medusa began to move, casting an expectant look over her shoulder. Clutching one arm and biting his lower lip, Crona followed. They walked for a moment in silence before Crona worked up the courage to ask another question.

"Why are there so many?"

"In order to create a child from my own flesh that was also a meister and accepted the Black Blood, a great many mutants needed to be generated," she answered matter-of-factly. "The amount of external genetic material needed to be minimized to ensure the child had a high tolerance for magic and compatibility with the Black Blood. Most who did were nonviable and, of the few that survived, only one was suitable for my needs."

"Only one…"

"Yes. Here you are."

She stopped before one of the tanks and held out a hand to indicate the child inside. Accepting the invitation, he approached, peering through the glass. Instead of an umbilical chord, a tube filled with Black Blood was fused into its abdomen, extending upwards into a network in the ceiling. It had a little mop of pink hair and almost translucent skin. One tiny thumb was in its mouth. Something inside Crona felt… he had no idea. Tears burned in his eyes and he didn't know why. Lady Medusa watched him closely, gaze calculating.

"You are a very unique child Crona. When you were first conceived, your soul was Grigori. They say this soul type only appears once in every fifty million individuals and it took almost that many attempts. Hypothetically speaking this should've made you resistant to magic; I expected you to reject the Black Blood altogether. Yet instead you were one of the very few that adapted to it, accepting it and even producing it on your own. This soul type would make it difficult to induce Madness, let alone sustain it and produce a Kishin, so I knew you would be a challenging child.

"However your soul mutated rapidly as you were exposed to the Black Blood, and the ability to fly was far too exciting to pass up. There were a few abnormalities, such as your hair color and the variable rates at which different segments grow, your strabismus, and your disfigured genitalia, but nothing I couldn't work with. Of all my trials, you were the only one that showed any promise. You were the only one capable of being my child."

 _Crona?_

His insides felt suddenly solid, his breath going stagnate in his chest. It was like… like some wraith was reaching out to him. Something from another world was calling in his soul. It burnt. Lady Medusa frowned, giving the ether around them an annoyed look.

"Hmm, seems there are other matters that require your attention," she said before he'd had a chance to decide what the voice in his head meant. His lips parted, but she silenced him with a flick of her wrist. "Go to her. Go, but come back. You have more questions, I can tell. Questions you don't even know how to ask yet. I'll teach you everything... when you come back."

 _Crona?_

He blinked once and was back in Professor Stein's lab. The lights were on, yellow in comparison to the computer screen, and the world was solid. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the door was open now. Someone was standing in it. A tongue of anger lashed out inside him, an irritation with being disturbed that he didn't know how to deal with. With another blink that was gone and he turned to see who had come. Maka was there, her feet bare, her pajamas dusty. She was shaking from cold and fear and Crona didn't understand why.

Then he remembered. He'd been bitten by a witch's familiar and his mind had been torn open for her convenience. This had been happening for a while. How much she'd learned and what she wanted from him was still unknown. However, if everything that had been happening, every slip, could be attributed to her, then she was getting closer and closer to achieving her goal. He was desperate to stop it, so desperate that he had resorted to using his mother's journals. Gone inside the pages where _she_ still lived. Lady Medusa was there… They'd spoken…

It all seemed like it was happening to someone else, or like a dream. Entirely unreal and yet absolute. The cold facts had made him feel numb, allowed him to press forward rationally. Maka was not rational right now; her emotions burned all around her. He could deal with his own feelings, but seeing hers… Lady Medusa's journal slid through his suddenly limp fingers, making a dull thud as it hit the floor.

"Maka…" he whispered

A wave of vulnerability and terror blindsided him, gripping his throat and burning his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, his skin came alive with chills. The reality of his situation collapsed all around him and in an instant it was all too much. Maka ran to his side just in time to catch him as his knees gave out and together they sank to the floor, Crona with his hands balled in Maka's night shirt and Maka with her arms wrapped around his trembling form. Sobs interrupted the shaking in violent waves and he gasped for breath. Tears that he couldn't control rolled down his face and darkened the yellow stripes, unimpeded by his scrunched up features. Even his mind, which had been so focused minutes before, felt like a dysfunctional puddle of uselessness. Maka did her best to sooth him, her voice rumbling against his forehead, murmuring words he couldn't understand but found comforting nonetheless. Her fingers ran through his hair and her own tears wet his scalp. Neither noticed Soul, Marie, and Stein crowd the doorway. And none of them could've been prepared for what was coming.

* * *

Uncomfortable was a little too mild a word to describe how Crona felt. Stein had said they'd need to discuss everything with Lord Death, he had warned him. Still, actually being there… it made him very nervous. This was not the intention, he understood that, just as he understood they needed to talk. He knew this was bad. He knew it was dangerous. That didn't prevent him from feeling under attack. It didn't alleviate his fear or remove all the unpleasant memories associated with this place. The guillotine arches made him think of the long walk to confess his betrayal, the pale blue sky and fluffy clouds reminded him of being too late to help Maka fight the Kishin. This was not a safe place and every nerve in his electrified body constantly reminded him of it.

"Hello! Sup? How ya doin'?" Lord Death greeted him with his usual enthusiasm, holding a cup of tea that was far too small for his large, white hands. Crona flinched anyway, looking for guidance on the floor.

"F-fine, I guess," he mumbled.

"Anyway," Spirit cut in, brushing deep red hair from his face and trying too hard to play it cool. "We should get started."

"Oh yes, quite right. Now, Professor Stein has given us the short version of what happened last night, but we'd like to hear your take on it. So Crona, why don't you go on and tell us what you remember."

"I…" His mouth was dry and it was difficult to find words. Lord Death waited patiently, his eyes pits of blackness that betrayed absolutely nothing. "I don't remember anything after it bit me…"

"The centipede, you mean? Stein says it's a witch's familiar. Do you know who this witch is?"

"No I- I haven't seen any witches. I thought they were just dreams, I didn't know it was a witch."

"What have you told her?"

"Nothing!"

Crona took a step back, raising his arms as if in preparation for a blow. His eyes had gone wide and ice blue, his face more pale than usual. Sighing heavily, Spirit consulted the wall for a moment and then rephrased.

"What happens in these dreams? Does she ask you questions? About yourself or the Academy?"

"I… don't remember any questions… except the one. There's a voice that asks me what I-" he broke off, eyes flicking to Lord Death.

"Go on," he said with an encouraging nod.

"She wants to know what I fear, but I don't know why. Then I'm back with Lady Medusa and it's all happening again. Soul says he heard me talking but I don't remember saying anything! He says I made the room shake but I don't know how!"

"Alright, calm down," Spirit said, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting uncomfortably.

"There's no need to get upset Crona, we're not accusing you of anything," Lord Death clarified, giving Spirit a meaningful glance. "But this is serious business. You've been having a rough time lately."

"I'll stop," he said quickly, tucking his chin to his chest and trying to assess the situation. How much danger was he actually in. As long as he was a student he was relatively safe. However, the moment he became a threat they'd turn on him. They'd come after him, kill him even. That was, after all, what the DWMA was for: killing things like him. Did they know what he'd done? Did they suspect? Crona responded in the only way he knew how, by trying to appease them. Lord Death was impossible to read, but Spirit seemed to soften.

"Listen kid, what's happened isn't your fault. We know you didn't ask for any of it and we're not trying to attack you or anything."

"You don't think I _can_ stop…" Crona repeated what he'd heard, curling even more into himself.

"No, that's not- you're not doing anything wrong. There's nothing for you to stop, understand?"

"Well…" Lord Death's voice trailed a little as he bent to one side, drawing both Spirit and Crona's attention sharply. "That's not entirely true…"

"Please," Crona whispered, his face paling as he curled even further into himself.

His shoulders vibrated, his wide eyes shining in terror. What he was asking for was beyond all of them; it was just his default response to a threat. Appease what can be appeased and kill what cannot. That was how Medusa had raised him and, as Spirit watched, he realized that was still very much how he saw them. Surrogates for her structure, the new source of his directives. With a stab of revulsion and fresh rage at the witch, he realized that barring some greater danger, Crona would probably do literally anything they told him to. To ensure his own safety, Crona would break everything. His hard gaze slid over to Lord Death, his mind trying to work out what the Reaper meant.

"Crona, you have made a great deal of progress and no one wants to devalue that." His child-like voice was uncharacteristically firm, which clearly frightened the pink haired meister even more. "Aside from that first one, you've been doing very well on your missions. You're an excellent student and Professor Stein has praised your work as his research assistant. All in all, we are very proud of you."

Medusa's child flinched away as if something truly terrible had been said, looking like he dearly wanted to run but was afraid of what would happen if he did. The praise… he didn't know how to deal with praise. Kind words from Maka were one thing; they were expected from kind people. Lord Death wasn't a person, he was the master of this city and the DWMA. His list determined who lived and who died.

"However."

There it was. Crona let out a little whimper.

"In light of this new witch threat I do not think it is safe for you to leave the city any more. That includes going on missions and visiting Professor Stein to help with researching the Black Blood."

At that he absolutely cried. Tears burned his eyes and his lips trembled almost as badly as the rest of his body. Little stuttering gasps punctuated the thick silence at irregular intervals as old training forced the meister to hold himself together as best he could. Spirit, for his part, paled in fear of his own.

" _If you make Crona cry I will never forgive you."_

"Hey it's okay," he tried to console, waving his hands through the air. "It's not a punishment, we just want you to be safe. You don't want to end up helping another witch, do you?"

That didn't help at all. Crona brought his palms up and buried his face in them. Spirit backpedaled.

"Not that that would happen! We know you'd never do something like that if you had a choice."

Making it worse.

"I- I was g-going w-w-with Maka and-d Soul. W-we were p-p-planning a p-picnic on t-the beach. M-Maka s-says the waves-s are n-nice. But-t now… N-now… I-I c-can't-t do a-anything right! I n-never can! I-I'm s-sorry!"

"I don't mean to upset you," Lord Death was more dispassionate. "But you yourself know what you're capable of. We cannot risk your Madness taking over again. Do you understand?"

Suddenly the sobs stopped and Crona's body went horribly still. Little gasps still emitted from him, yet they'd changed, going from ragged to oddly choked. Slowly, he forced his arms down to his side, head hanging limply. Then, just as slowly, he raised his eyes so he could look at them through his bangs. They were ice blue and wide and completely empty. Spirit had seen those eyes before, that first night, as Medusa's words dug a hole in his mind and filled it with her will. Concern made a sharp edge inside him and his own form went taught in preparation. Crona didn't respond. He didn't actually look like he was going to attack. If anything, he looked submissive.

"I…"

His voice was as flat as his gaze. But then something sparked. His face twitched, a warmth coming into his icy features. Defiantly, he raised his chin.

"I don't understand," he shouted, causing Spirit to jump. "I don't understand at all! If I'm so dangerous then why am I here? If we can't let my Madness take over then why can't I study the Black Blood so I know how to stop it? If I didn't do anything wrong then why can't I go with Maka?"

"This is difficult for you, I know," Lord Death said in a soft voice, unfazed by Crona's sudden anger. "Still, you need to see my perspective. I have the safety of the entire world to consider. So answer me honestly: if you do slip again, can you guarantee that you won't hurt anyone?"

Crona looked taken aback. A frown creased his features and he bit his lower lip, reaching across his chest to grasp one arm. Closing himself off again.

"I can," Spirit cut in abruptly. They both looked at him with varying degrees of uncertainty and yet the Death Scythe held firm. "I'll go with them and if anything happens I will take care of it."

Lord Death stared at him for a long, tense moment before turning his empty eyes to Crona. The meister flushed, eyes darting to the floor and back up to him several times.

"Do you know what that means? Will you accept the risk," Lord Death asked quietly.

First there was confusion, and then his lips parted. A tiny breath echoed in the silence. Finally, a nod.

"Yes. If it means I can go with Maka then yes."

* * *

Maka lay on her side, one arm extended under Crona's head while the other was folded up against her body. Her fingers traced patterns on his shoulder and back, starting up in his hair and then running down his neck. He'd been tense at first, but over time relaxed against her. Every now and again she'd touch just the right spot and he'd shiver, causing her to grin. Pleased with herself. Things had been hard since the research had intensified; it often seemed that Crona was dedicating all his free time to work. He'd been distant and tired, but also empowered somehow. The panic attacks had all but stopped, as had much of his trembling and stuttering. For the first time perhaps ever, Crona seemed to feel in control of himself. Of course Maka felt a dark, undeniable jealousy that made even this success taste painfully sour. This work was taking him away from her and helping him in ways she couldn't, and that was upsetting to say the least. Nevertheless, she couldn't outright hate anything that made Crona so… happy. He seemed happy.

That was until last night. A deep shame still burnt inside her, the desire to be punished for not noticing the witch's familiar pushing against even the comfort of this moment. Everything had been going so well! Why did another witch want to ruin his life? What was the goal and why did it have to be Crona? Stupid question, she knew exactly why Crona. Power coursed through that Black Blood in his body as surely as Madness pulsed in his mind. There was Crona, the one she loved with everything she had, and then there was Medusa's child.

 _My blood is black, you know._

That's why the witch wanted him, because they were almost as obsessed with research as Stein. The need to know was a madness all its own. She'd seen it in the Professor's hungry stare, in Medusa's hateful "experiments," and now, she could see it in Crona. This new witch was undoubtedly caught up in experiments of her own, which wouldn't have bothered Maka half as much if the subject weren't the pink haired meister now lying beside her. Rage ignited inside her as the image of centipedes crawling across his flesh stained her thoughts. And of course the DWMA couldn't leave well enough alone. They had brought him in like a criminal, again, to host a secret meeting. The anger found another target and she stopped abruptly, resting her hand on Crona's curved waist.

"Crona," she probed, not allowing any of her distress to seep into her voice.

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask… what did Lord Death want?"

At that he stiffened, going hard beneath her fingertips as if in response to a threat. He'd been oscillating between obviously upset and in denial. Maybe fifteen minutes ago he seemed to have truly forgotten. And the question had ruined it. She retracted quickly, both regretting bringing it up and wishing it wasn't so difficult to get information out of him.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I understand."

"He…" Crona tried after a thick silence. Then he rolled over so he could face Maka directly. His expression was hurt and offended. "I can't work with Professor Stein anymore. Not on the research. They'll let me give blood and read my mother's journals. That's all now. He'll keep going without me."

"What?" Her voice was low and sharp, but Crona ignored it, pressing forward.

"And your father is coming with us to Washington. He's supposed to… to watch me, in case…"

"In case of what," Maka snapped, taking on a defensive edge. He licked his lips thoughtfully, then made a decision. Nuzzling close to her, he tried to wedge his head under her chin so he could breathe on her neck. Like a puppy. Her own breath caught when his lips brushed her throat.

"It doesn't matter. It's not going to happen."

She shuddered again as the very tip of his tongue moved up the tendon that connected her collarbone to her jaw. For a moment she just savored the sensation, the warmth of him exhaling on her sensitive flesh. But then she realized something interesting: Crona was trying to distract her. Maka sat up, causing him to start and his eyes to go ice blue. Sheepishly, he looked up at her, blinking at her serious expression.

"What's not going to happen," she said firmly. He swallowed and she pressed. "What went on in there? What did they accuse you of?"

Another long, stagnate silence. Crona stared at the wrinkled sheets where she'd been lying, nodding a little as if they were making some persuasive arguments. Maka stared down at him, noting the effect those arguments were having on his mood. Chipping away at his conviction.

"It's not that they don't have reason," he mumbled, sitting up too and pulling his legs to his chest. Resting his chin on his knees, he continued morosely. "I know that. I… understand. And I…"

He fought to get it out. She moved closer, kneeling and leaning towards him.

"I've done things Maka. Things I shouldn't have done, but I-"

"I don't care," she cut him off, giving him an intense look which he couldn't meet. "You haven't hurt anyone, you haven't put anyone or anything in danger. You're in control and I trust you. Nothing can change that, not ever. I don't care what they say or what their reasons are, they're wrong."

"What if… they're not," he asked.

She had a thousand things to say to that, yet none of them seemed appropriate. Nothing felt like it could lift his spirits. So she did something instead. Pressing one hand to his cheek, she turned his face towards her and brushed her lips over his. He closed his eyes, something wet on his eyelashes glinting in the moonlight. Pain and resolve saturated the air.

"Maka," he whispered. "I need you to promise me something."

Now it was her turn to distract him. She closed the space between them and kissed him again, hard. He opened his mouth in surprise and her tongue darted in, taking advantage of the moment to deepen their kiss. One hand held the back of his neck, keeping him close as her mouth worked over his. The other adventured downwards, to a place they'd recently began to explore. It was hard to get to given his current position, though. Her fingers wiggled into the groove between his thigh and stomach, running downward until she could press into his hip. Without much effort she made space for her hand and brushed her goal. His squeak was low and muffled, his eyes flicking open. But instead of yielding to her touch he pushed her away.

"Please, I'm being serious," he said rather firmly, hands resting on her collarbones, stare pale blue. She tucked her chin towards her chest and pursed her lips. "If I'm not in control, if I slip- I don't want to hurt anyone. Promise you won't let me hurt anyone. Promise you'll stop me."

"Crona, that's not going to happen. You said so yourself," she sighed, holding his gaze with certainty.

"But if it does… Maka you make me safe. Please? Please promise you'll keep me safe? That's all I want."

She turned her head to the side so her hair slid over her shoulder and across the back of his hand. Gently, like he was made of glass, she reached up and cupped his face. Crona stared back at her, pleading, desperate. Lord Death had scared him more than even he himself had realized, and she regretted bringing it up at all. Still, she had, and this was the consequence. Swallowing hard, she gave her head a sharp nod.

"Alright. Alright, I promise."

Relieve spread across his features. Tentatively, he leaned forward, lips brushing over hers like a puff of air. She expected him to stop there, but he didn't. Slowly, growing bolder, he kissed her again. Then again, harder each time, pushing her backwards until she was lying on the pillow. He propped himself above her, one hand on either side of her waist. Bending at the elbows, he moved his attention to the exposed strip of flesh between her pajama top and bottom. Maka arched into him, letting out a small noise of appreciation. Crona pulled back a little, giving the door a concerned look which caused her to giggle.

"I'll be quiet if you will," she teased. His eyes moved back to her, expression almost amused and definitely nervous.

"Then…" he asked, gaze flicking around, down to a spot he'd only just discovered and then back to her eyes.

It was smaller, but generally like his, and she seemed to like being touched there. At least, she said she did, and based on the similar way in which their bodies responded, he was inclined to believe her. And she seemed interested now.

"May I?"

With another giggle, Maka slid her hands into her pants, hooking her thumbs on the waistband of both pajama and underwear to push them down. Smiling deviously, she then reached up and gave Crona a caress through his night gown.

"Only if I get to go next."


	19. Chapter 19

"I knew you'd come back."

"I didn't want to…" he mumbled, clutching his arm and casting his shifting gaze downward. "I don't like it here…"

"Yet here you are. You have more questions, I can see it. Ask them."

"I…" Crona trailed off, biting his lower lip. She was right, she was always right. Always. He did have questions and he did need answers. But there was something else, some other reason he'd been drawn to this white place between the book pages. Slowly he looked up at her, timid, afraid and anxious to see those yellow eyes again. Those cold, unforgiving, critical eyes. His mother's eyes.

"Ask me your questions," Lady Medusa's reflection repeated, harder this time, and his insides hardened with her.

"How does the Black Blood conduct foreign wavelengths? I know you designed it to deactivate in response to your soul wavelength, but how does that work inside me?"

"That is an excellent question," she said, her face splitting into a wide, serpentine grin. "One that will take time to answer. Do you have time?"

"No… not now. I have to go somewhere soon."

"Then you will need to return. The Black Blood is not simple; it took me a century to develop and may take you just as long to understand. Nevertheless, I shall give you the short answer."

She moved to her left, walking silently like the ghost she was, and he followed just a silently. He shouldn't have come to her. He should've stay away. Nothing good had ever happened in her presence, this all-encompassing aura in which he lost himself. But he was desperate, even more so now. If he couldn't research the Black Blood with Professor Stein, he'd need to do it here. With Lady Medusa, the one who'd made it in the first place. The one who'd made him. As much as Maka made him safe she made him dangerous. As strong as he'd gotten he felt submissive even before this shadow. He _knew better_.

And yet this Lady Medusa did not treat him as a thing. She spoke to him as a student, maybe even a peer, like a person. It was a new side of her, one he'd begun to see in her written work. Yes there was cruelty but also brilliance. Tenacity. Dedication and discipline. The unyielding hunger to understand he felt growing in himself. Crona always understood that he belonged to her, but here, speaking with her as he was doing now, he was starting to feel… like…

The two stopped beside a crib made of ebony wood with white blankets and high bars. Above it a little display of arrows hung on short chords, twisting and flashing hypnotically in the still air. Lady Medusa reached in and pulled out a baby, maybe a year old, with uneven pink hair and nearly translucent skin. A fist twisted Crona's gut as he looked at the two, emotions he didn't know how to deal with seething under his skin. Softly, she propped the child on her hip, securing him there with a thick, black arrow like a sash. One arm wrapped around its back and the other brushed pink hair from its eyes. Her face was cold.

"The Black Blood was designed to respond to my soul wavelength, so during initial development yours was foreign. As you grew, so did your compatibility and I had to reassert myself."

"I don't understand," Crona whispered, staring at the child and the way she held it. Listening to the way it cooed happily in her arms. That was him. It had to be. So why was she being so gentle? It made no sense with everything he knew.

"Sensitization. You needed to be sensitized to my wavelength, to recognize it like a hormone and respond accordingly. Magical manipulation can only get you so far; true control requires access to the soul."

"Is that what you're doing now? Does being around someone acclimate the Black Blood to that person's wavelength?"

"Hardly. What good is a weapon that could be used by anyone? No, this is socialization and bonding. Surely you're familiar with such things."

"No… no it isn't right… I don't understand what you're doing."

He shook his head, breath quickening as his mind began to race. Focus was impossible, coherent thought was impossible, everything he was experiencing was impossible. Crona wanted her to stop, to put the child back and abandon it. She didn't. Shifting her weight, she readjusted it-him, holding him close.

"Experiments showed that a child requires socialization, care and affection, during the early stages of life. Neglect resulted in maladjusted individuals who were too broken to sustain Madness. Additionally they had no loyalty to me and would attack or try to flee at the first opportunity. This was counterproductive. I needed my Black Blooded creation to stay with me, to obey me without question, to defend me past reason. In short, at least initially, I needed the bond between mother and child."

Breathing was hard as the world cracked around him. It made a sick sort of sense; he had been everything she said and more. Still, seeing her hold him, care for him, be tender and maternal, was all wrong. He couldn't process it. Lady Medusa smiled a wicked smile at him, narrowing her gaze.

"You are my child Crona, above all else. I see this is difficult for you. Don't worry; it will become easier as we work together. Let's return to your original question, shall we? You wanted to know how the Black Blood conducts soul wavelengths that do not belong to the user."

"Sensitization," he answered numbly. It was too much. Too much work not to do as she said.

"Yes, but not through interaction alone. A soul wavelength can exert an influence through physical proximity, but to have a lasting impression blood is required."

"Blood" Crona repeated, frowning in confusion. His head was still spinning and it was hard to concentrate. Numbness displaced panic, his ability to process what he was seeing and hearing slowly fading. He remembered this blind acceptance of everything she said, could feel it inside him like the roots of an old weed. Twisting around his will to fight.

"The soul is in the blood. Mental illness is in the mind, sickness in the body, and Madness, corruption of the soul, is in the blood. A strong soul will nourish the body and sharpen the mind, a weak soul will lead to decay. Conversely, a disturbed mind and an ill cared for body will degrade the soul. These three affect each other."

"The soul-mind-body nexus."

"Very good Crona. And the blood connects everything. Here, I will show you."

Shifting the baby, Lady Medusa used one hand to open the front of her shirt down to below the sternum. Then, flicking her hair over her shoulder, she pulled out a breast. Crona flushed scarlet, stepping back and dropping his gaze to the floor. Her eyes were firm and demanding and he could feel her stare in his chest. Sense her command. Swallowing, he obeyed, lifting it back to her. Smiling coldly, she dug her nails into the flesh just above her nipple, cutting, bringing forth spots of crimson that shone brightly in the white light. The child raised his tiny hands at the sight of the breast, making little fists in the black fabric they could reach. She lifted him from the sling and brought him close, allowing him to suckle. Blood mixed with milk, red with white, and the child-Crona drank it greedily.

Sickness churned in his gut and yet… Lady Medusa smiled as understanding came into his face. The foreign magic inside him, the proteins, the whispers. The key was in the blood.

 _A knock at the door, low and hollow._

Starting, Crona looked up sharply from the white pages just as the door cracked open. Maka poked her face in, rubbing her lips together nervously. Her emerald eyes darted to the stack of journals they'd moved from Professor Stein's lab, which now took up a solid third of Crona's little room. She hadn't said anything, but he could sense she didn't like them. Maybe it was her hatred for his mother, or perhaps an artifact of her anti-magic wavelength. Maybe she just didn't like having to share Crona with the blank texts. Regardless, when she noticed the open book in his hands, disapproval flashed across her features. He flushed just a little, acutely aware of how terrible it was to be obsessed with a witch's research, especially when that witch was his mother. At least his head felt clearer now. It was always better when he came out of that place; he could pretend it had happened to someone else.

"Um," she cleared her throat, opening the door further. "We're about to head out. Do you have all you're things ready?"

"My things," Crona asked, confused. Usually they just brought their warm bodies.

"Oh, you know…" Maka rolled her lips together again, phrasing things carefully. "Something to keep you occupied while Soul and I are gone."

"Right…" Crona said after a moment, morose.

"So you don't have to spend the whole time talking to Papa," she added quickly. "You know how he is, he won't leave you alone unless you're working."

"I, um." Crona looked down at the journal. Then, nodding to himself, he stood and replaced it in the pile. "I think it will be okay."

* * *

It was not okay. Not even a little. Spirit was decidedly uncomfortable sitting with Crona and Crona, for his part, had no idea how he was supposed to deal with that. He didn't really know what he'd been expecting. Questions about school? Maybe discussions about how smart and wonderful Maka was? He could talk about those things, could handle Spirit's enthusiasm so long as it was about Maka. What he couldn't handle was the silence.

The two had wandered the streets of a small town that smelled like salt and damp for maybe an hour before settling in at a tiny coffee shop. Spheres of hollow, blue glass hung in nets and the grey made the moss and grass almost seem to glow. Cold wet saturated the air like his breath. Inside was much warmer, but cramped. They'd ordered what looked familiar off a menu that was much too complex and found a little table in the corner. The coffee had come, they'd learned the true definition of a macchiato, and now the silence between them was wound like a tight wire, ready to snap.

"So…"

There it went. Crona jerked violently, rattling the table and sloshing some coffee out of their tiny cups. Spirit sort of frowned at him, not sure what to make of his reaction. His ice blue eyes and pale skin. The Madness seething just beneath the surface.

"How are you doing Crona?"

He winced. How was he supposed to be doing? There was a witch after him. As soon as he got back from this mission he was not to venture past the walls of Death City. He was only on the mission because Spirit had agreed to keep an eye on him. And if he slipped his chaperone was going to kill him. Ragnarok said he'd like to see him try, but Crona didn't want that. He wanted to be out in the forest with Maka and Soul. But that wasn't going to happen, so how was he doing?

"F-fine," he stuttered, shifting eyes looking everywhere except Spirit. "Everything is fine."

"I see," the Death Scythe answered, leaning back in his chair. Silence descended again. Then he continued: "How are things with you and Maka?"

Crona let out a strangled noise and flushed deeply, tucking his chin to his chest. Sighing heavily through his nose, Spirit shifted again, interlacing his fingers and leaning his forearms on the table. His face was chiseled and oddly serious, which made Crona all the more nervous. Had he done something wrong?

"I-uh-Let me start out by saying that my baby girl is an excellent judge of character and she chose you, so…"

More silence, this time heavy and stagnant. This was much more difficult in person than it had been in his head. He'd prepped the speech for Soul, or someone like him, cool and confident and comfortable with himself. Such a person could be threatened and made cautious. Crona, on the other hand, was none of those things. And threatening him while out on a mission where his role was most generously described as a guard seemed particularly inappropriate. Especially at that moment. Spirit looked across the table at his thin, tense form and felt himself soften instantly. They all had a soft spot for Medusa's child; that's part of what made him so dangerous.

"Crona," he started again. "I realize you have no experience with women and I don't want Maka to get hurt."

"I will never hurt Maka," the pink haired meister shot back, straightening and looking Spirit dead in the eye. His features were indignant and hurt by the accusation, his tone steady and sharp. There. Now they could talk.

"I would've said the same thing," he replied wryly. "But I did. I still do, I know that. We don't hurt the people we love intentionally. That doesn't mean we can't hurt them."

"I don't understand."

"Maka's mother and I… She is an amazing woman. The most remarkable person I've ever met. I love her just as I love Maka, with everything I have. Loving someone isn't always enough, especially when you're as different as she and I."

"Maka says mean things about you… she's always very angry with you."

"She has good reasons, I can't deny it. Her mother wanted a child and after we had Maka… well, lets just say our interests diverged and I had to look elsewhere for mine…"

"You mean other women. Everyone knows about that. It makes Maka very unhappy."

This time it was Spirit who flushed. He laughed awkwardly.

"I have a weakness…"

"I don't," said Crona flatly. "I only want to be with Maka."

"And I'm not saying otherwise. What I'm trying to tell you is be careful with her. Listen to what she needs and don't ignore her for anything. Tell her she's beautiful, smart, and strong. Be honest with yourself about who you are and don't make promises you can't keep. Don't… don't be like me."

The Demon Swordsman blinked at him in bemusement. Quiet came between them once again. It lasted so long this time that Spirit thought they were done talking entirely, but then Crona swallowed.

"Did... Did Maka say something," he asked, sounding afraid. "Do you think I'm doing something wrong?"

"No, nothing like that. I just thought, as long as we were spending time together, I could impart some wisdom. Just… don't tell Maka?"

"What should I not tell her," he asked after a long pause.

"Don't tell her that I told you- actually, just don't tell her we spoke at all."

"Yes," Crona nodded. "Maka would not like you telling me these things. She wouldn't want me to take your advice, even if it's good."

"She's a spitfire."

"She's so bright…" His storm cloud eyes drifted out the window, as if he expected to see her there. His expression was pensive, almost sad. "And I… I'm pitch black. I thought no light could touch me. I thought-"

Crona broke off abruptly, gasping, His face contorted in pain, one hand gripping at his scalp while the other pressed into the table. Fingernails and knuckles white.

"Crona?! What is it? What's happening?"

"Something's wrong," he choked, shuddering. His body jerked violently as a fresh wave of agony hit, his breath catching. "Something's happening. Something's wrong."

"You need to tell me what."

"I don't know! He's not right. Everything's broken inside, in his blood… It's black, you know."

Crona released his head suddenly and relaxed, hunching over the table. A grimace broke across his face, or was it a grin. Was he shaking with pain or Madness? Was that… laughter? Spirit tensed, narrowing his sky blue eyes. Not here- he couldn't loose control here. Not with so many civilians around. Already they were staring, if this kept up someone was going to come over. Then what would Crona do?

"Crona, listen to me, stay focused."

"He's going to hurt her…"

It came out as a giggle, causing Spirit's heart to hammer. This was exactly why they hadn't wanted him to leave Death City! But how had the witch gotten to him? What was he talking about? Who else had Black Blood aside from Crona and-

"He's going to hurt her!"

Snapping back to himself, Crona stood, face pale and deadly serious. His ice blue gaze locked with Spirit's meaningfully and the Death Scythe went equally pale. Crona made for the door and burst outside with Spirit right behind him. But he couldn't keep up for long. Black, liquid wings burst from Crona's shoulder blades, releasing a pulse of Madness even Spirit could feel.

"Crona wait!"

"There's no time; I have to go _now_."

"Stop it! You can't go off by yourself!"

Crona ignored him. He ignored the screams and cursing and staring from everyone around him. He ignored the Madness's call inside him and the boiling of his Black Blood as he pushed further than he could go. He ignored the consequences. None of that mattered. Lifting off the ground with his large, powerful wings, Crona sped towards the one thing that did.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: Hi all, sorry for the long update time. My uncle died unexpectedly and I shut down for a little. I'm doing much better now, but lost momentum. I'm hoping to be more productive in the future and get these to you more quickly as it is a source of great joy for me, but with graduation coming up too, the going may be slow from time to time. This fiction will be finished, so don't worry about that. I just wanted to give you all an explanation for the long wait. Do enjoy and let me know what you think!**

* * *

"Maka, about how much longer are we going to do this?"

"Until we find the Kishin Egg. Why? Tired already."

"Of tripping over logs in the rain? Not really how I was hoping to spend the day, no."

"It's the Washington coast, what were you expecting?"

"It's not the weather I'm complaining about, it's the locals. Seriously, you think someone could've said something more specific than "the trail down to the beach" and saved us some time. We've searched for how long and made it what, a mile towards the beach?"

"The townspeople told us what they knew, which wasn't a lot. Get over it. We're on a mission, Soul, and we'll be out here for however long it takes."

"Don't act like you don't want this done just as badly as I do."

Maka had to bite her tongue after that one. Yes, she did want it done. She wanted to be back home with Crona, somewhere where he was safe and secure. So she could stop worrying and focus. Was she thrilled about these new restrictions? No, not at all. But she understood them. A part of her even wished Lord Death had been stricter and stopped Crona from coming with them at all, though her stubborn pride prevented her from admitting that. Didn't matter; Soul knew anyway. He'd picked up on her sour mood and, as always, knew exactly what had her so wound up. His own anxiety canceled out any compassion he might've had and the result was inevitably bickering. Now, though, it seemed he'd gotten bored with the banter.

"Do you think they're doing okay back there," he asked after a long pause, glancing over his shoulder.

"Assuming Papa's behaving himself and not traumatizing Crona, then yes."

"We've been gone for hours…"

"He's not a bomb that'll go off if you leave him unattended for too long."

"Will you quit being so sensitive!"

"Why don't you go look over that way. We'll cover more ground if we split up."

"And be totally unprepared when we run into the Kishin Egg."

Soul's voice was flat and unimpressed, his crimson gaze hard on Maka's back. Still, he gave her space, turning off to the left and starting through the ferns. It wasn't like he didn't get her denial. This wasn't a problem she could punch in the face, at least not until they found the witch that was screwing around in Crona's head, so she didn't know how to deal it except with denial. He handled things differently, critically, maybe even dispassionately. It was a point of contention. Regardless, this situation was stressful for both of them. The previous missions with Crona had been fine, pleasant even, but now he was just along for… what reason? Why had Lord Death allowed him to accompany them if he wasn't allowed to help? A Death Scythe in attendance was a given, but Maka's dad? Really? Just what had gone down in that meeting?

Soul didn't like it. He didn't like that they were out on just another mission while a dangerous witch roamed free. He didn't like that they were wasting time wandering around lost in the woods instead of hunting her down. And he didn't like not knowing what the plan was or if it even existed. Maka felt the same. What she couldn't feel was the ache in his chest. The burning in his scar. The red demon's grin at the back of his mind. She couldn't know what it was like to have your own sanity so intimately tied to another person's, experience their slips as physical pain. And when that pain reached capacity and spilled over… Soul didn't like thinking about what consequences proximity to Crona might have for him. Madness had been bubbling in his blood since the incident with the Little One. What would happen to him when Crona truly lost it?

Picking his way carefully through the growth, Soul pressed one palm into the dirt-clotted roots of a downed tree. But before he could move past it someone cut him off. Bare feet somehow free of mud peeking out from beneath the hem of a long, flowing, carmine skirt. A taught, bare stomach with olive skin. Garnet eyes in a heart shaped face, framed by coffee brown curls. Soul opened his mouth to ask what the hell she was doing in the woods and again she was faster than him. There was a jingle from the brass bands around her wrists as her long fingers drew a complex sign in the air and he found he couldn't say anything at all. He couldn't even move.

"Shhh, there's no need," she whispered, pressing her pointer to her lips and smiling cruelly. "It will all make sense in a moment."

Soul choked on a retort first, then a scream. Her other hand- there was a centipede with blood red legs curled around it. Like the one in Crona's room, thick and shining even in the grey light. His eyes widened as she held it out to him, his rib cage going taught as his breath froze.

 _I need to run_ he thought frantically. _I need to move. I need to get back to Maka._

His body ignored him, standing there like an idiot with one hand pressed into the roots of a fallen tree. The witch brought her familiar to his throat, pulling his collar away with the other hand to expose his flesh. Soul's heart hammered. A hundred pointed legs dug into his skin as the thing crawled onto him, curling around his neck like a black, chitin scarf. He swallowed hard, willing himself to react, pushing back against the spell that held him.

Time suspended as a thousand things tried to happen in the same infinite moment. To the world there was no order, but for Soul the sequence was painfully clear. Overcoming the magic, his fingers curled towards his palm. His teeth set and he pulled his hand towards the centipede as if through a dense liquid. It's pincers secured it in place, piercing the skin just lateral of his windpipe, coiling tightly. The bite was intensely painful, so much so that it would've brought him to his knees were it not for his enchanted bonds. Like acid, pinching and then burning and then dissolving. Then the blood rushing in his ears turned black…

He was in a room with soft candlelight and a grand piano. There was jazz playing off a record that kept skipping, repeating the same phrase over and over and over. Red curtains covering the walls. Only this time it was different. The demon was nowhere; a woman had taken his place. She wore a garnet gown that clung tightly to her form and matched her eyes perfectly. Her coffee brown curls were piled up on her head and brass bangles glittered at her wrists. Triumphantly, she smiled.

"What the hell!" Soul found his voice, releasing it with a vengeance into the manifestation of his Madness.

"Don't be angry," she cooed. "It's unattractive and counterproductive. There's no point in fighting me."

"Did I ask for your opinion," he shot back. "Get out. You can't be here!"

"Not before, no. But things are different now. I've activated the Black Blood inside you. Your soul has nothing to do with what comes next, so you might as well sit back. Put your feet up."

"Obviously you don't know what kind of person I am. Cool guys like me don't give up so easily. I've overcome the Black Blood before and I'll do it again."

"Not this time though," she said mildly, fingering a key on a ring. "This time I'm running the show. The door is locked. You don't get to leave until I say so."

"Don't sound so certain."

"Why not? I am certain. Sit back Soul Evans. Have a drink or play your piano. There's no getting around what's about to happen; why not make yourself comfortable for it?"

"I don't know who you are or what you think you're doing," Soul spat. "But I won't just play along with you. I won't give into the Madness."

"Weren't you listening? You have no choice. Already you're sinking into the void, see for yourself."

The breath caught in Soul's throat and he looked down. Beneath him an ocean of red-black glass seethed, clear and viscous and consuming. His feet were already sinking into it- no, not sinking. They were being pulled in. And he couldn't pull them back. The witch laughed as he struggled to free himself, swinging the key around her finger.

"Like I said, I'm running the show now."

* * *

Grey light and moss have a way of dampening sound. In the forest of cedar and ferns, the quiet was both peaceful and unnerving. Maka didn't notice until the sounds of foraging ceased behind her, until she realized that for whatever reason Soul had stopped moving. So she stopped too, torn between a hardheaded refusal to show anything that could even be perceived as weakness and a question which gnawed at her throat. She interpreted the silence as an admonishment. As always, it got under her skin.

"Why are you so worried about Crona anyway," she huffed, not turning to look at him.

Silence was her answer. A tongue of anger lashed out inside her.

"What, are you not talking to me now?"

More silence. Grey light and moss. And something else… Something in her partner's soul wavelength that had suddenly become dissonant. Anger turned to anxiety. Maka turned to look and instantly stumbled backwards, dodging a red and black blade. It cut through the air where she'd been a moment ago, arcing, glinting. The curved blade of a scythe.

She ducked, clearing the edge of that blade by another narrow margin, then did a back handspring to put some distance between them. Confused, she looked back at her opponent. Soul's blade protruded from his forearm and his eyes were wild and strange. There was a pupil and a crimson iris, but between the two a ring of white almost seemed to glow. The scar on his chest had opened up, but not in the sense that it was bleeding. No, it had literally opened like a third blazing eye, staring out from his hip to his shoulder. And around his neck was a black centipede with blood red legs.

Maka knew what that meant and she missed the confusion. Her chest hardened with terrible certainty.

Fear sharpened Maka's senses as an acute awareness of her own vulnerability churned in her gut. Yes she had her Soul Perception and that was a useful ability, but unlike Black Star, her special talent could not do bodily harm. There was that thing about having weapon blood, but it had only manifested when she was unconscious and even then only against the Kishin. In fact, without Soul, she couldn't really do much damage at all. Planting her feet, Maka inhaled and prepared the only weapon she had.

"What are you doing," she scolded. "Get a hold of yourself Soul! You're better than this!"

"The ache…" he muttered, swaying a little. "The ache in my chest. It needs to come out. I'm letting it out."

In a flash he'd closed the gap between them, coming so close she could feel the Madness pour from the wound in his chest like electricity. For the third time she avoided his blade, ducking to the side at the last minute and rolling behind him. He was quick, but she'd always been more nimble. She sprang up, fingers brushing the insect that was controlling him. If she could just get it off- Before she could get a grip he'd turned, slicing through the air in a whistling arc. Maka hit the ground, delivering a hard kick to the side of his knee. She'd apologize later. Pain shot up her leg as if she'd just rammed it into a steal pipe, bringing a wince to her features. Black Blood. Shit.

Again she rolled away, keeping well below striking range. A scythe isn't the easiest weapon to wield. The double edge made horizontal cuts in any direction effective, as well as upward cuts. Along the diagonal wasn't too difficult either, but trying to go straight down to hit something at your feet was slow going at best. The narrow point's the easiest to dodge and gets stuck. Soul didn't have much range either; dodging wasn't too difficult so long as she stayed low. Getting the centipede off shouldn't have been much trouble either if she stayed close. If she could just get behind him again and put him into some kind of hold, then she'd be able to pry the damn thing off and end this.

Too late she realized that Soul had caught onto her plan. He squatted down with her and swung his arm, aiming for her neck. Maka pulled back, but lost her balance. Pain shot through her skull as it cracked on the rocky soil and, for a moment, her vision went black. When the world refocused he was standing over her, sharp teeth bared, eyes burning. But the higher ground gave him too much confidence and he made a mistake Maka never would have. He drove downwards, dropping to one knee with his blade oriented parallel to his body, intent on impaling her. She dodged at the last second and the tip, predictably, got caught in the loose earth. It wasn't much, but it gave her time to put some distance between them. Something warm and wet made its way down her back and she realized he'd grazed her.

"Soul listen to me," she called, reaching out to try and resonate with him. His soul was like the grinding of gears that don't line up, whining and twisting metal, and she was thrown back.

"I don't need you," he said in a low, slurred voice. "I don't need anyone. This is my power."

Maka braced herself for another assault, but none came. At least not in the traditional sense. Soul held out his arm and transformed the blade into what could only be described as a curved piano. With his other hand he struck a minor chord that shot shivers down her back. And energy through the air. A wave of sound concentrated enough to cut, it rushed at her as if in slow motion. Letting her appreciate the inevitability of impact, the certainty of her defeat. She had no weapon, no counterattack. No choice but to wait for the end.

A piercing scream tore the air as an equally powerful force of black and purple energy rushed to meet the sound. The two attacks canceled each other out, releasing a shockwave in all directions and knocking both Soul and Maka to the ground. Crona landed between them, wings of Black Blood stretched wide, Ragnarok's thin blade extended to one side. His wide eyes were ice blue, his face tense and focused.

"Are you alright," he asked without moving his gaze from Soul. "Did he hurt you?"

"It's nothing," she insisted, pushing herself up with a groan. Blood stained her white shirt and her head was throbbing, but to Maka this really was nothing.

"Your father's coming," Crona said in a strangely authoritative voice. "But he doesn't know exactly where we are. He can't sense the Madness like I can. Go get him."

"I'm not leaving you," she snapped, indignant and irritated.

"Maka please…" His voice cracked, letting a whisper of desperation through.

"Just go already, would ya," shot Ragnarok. "I could take out white hair over there in my sleep! Hell, I've done it before. You're useless here, you dumb cow, so get going!"

The scathing retort never made it off of Maka's lips. Or if it did it was drowned out by another, more insidious noise: laughter. Behind them, standing next to the fan of toppled tree roots, there was a woman. No-not a woman, Maka quickly corrected herself. A witch. She was holding a hand over her mouth as if to stifle her giggles, but under all the attention she couldn't contain herself and burst out into full laughter.

"What a delightful surprise! Of course I hoped you would come, but I never actually expected the Reaper to let you out of your cage. Nor did I expect you to be so reckless. It appears my initial estimations of how difficult this project was were misguided."

"Who are you," Maka shouted, her hands balling into fists as all the rage and hatred she'd built up over the past few months found its target. "What have you done to Soul?! What do you want with Crona?!"

"My name is Pendra," the witch answered mildly, smirking at the scythe meister's fury. "As for the rest, well, let's just say this is an experiment. Already the results were quite promising; your weapon was easily overwhelmed. He was about to kill you, thanks to the Madness of the Black Blood. This new development, though, I could go on and on about how excited I am. Alas, it seems you have other matters that demand your attention."

Crona, who had been absolutely frozen before the witch, suddenly cried out. Soul had taken advantage of their distraction to advance, leaping forward and slicing into the pink haired meister's back. His own Black Blood mobilized quickly, hardening before more than a few drops could escape, but the wound ached. Not with pain, but with Madness. A hollow smile twisted at his lips and a low, choking giggle scratched at his throat. Gritting his teeth, Crona reached out for Maka, for the light that was her soul in his darkness, and regained composure.

Spinning on his toes, he swung Ragnarok in an arc, catching the scythe in the temple with the broad side of the blade. Soul staggered, despite the hardness in his blood, and gave Crona a livid look. The rings of light smoldered in his eyes, pure insanity radiating from the wound in his chest. Crona felt it inside, in his mind, salivating with hunger. If Maka hadn't needed to be protected… if Soul wasn't his friend… A flash of red and black. The clang of metal meeting metal. Screams vibrating painfully through his body and that of his opponent. They sprung apart.

"Shit for brains," Ragnarok swore. "Do you wanna die? Quit dancing around like an idiot and do something!"

"Maka," Crona said in a very low, very controlled voice. "Go. Please."

"I-"

She couldn't argue. Against a regular human she'd have no problems, but against her own, self-sufficient weapon? Even Maka had to admit she was next to useless. Add in the witch and she was a down right liability. Pendra, for now, seemed content to watch the show and paid Maka no interest. How long that was going to last was anyone's guess. She took one step backwards, then another.

"I'm going to get Papa," she called, her voice hard. "Just hold on until I get back!"

Crona nodded, not looking at her. Swallowing a frustrated lump in her throat, Maka spun around and ran.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Depression sucks... best avoided if possible.**

* * *

Soul's distorted eyes followed Maka's retreat into the ferns and he made a move to go after her. Like lightning Crona cut him off, catching him in the gut with Ragnarok's narrow blade. The force of the blow sent him stumbling back, grunting in pain and spattering the ground with Black Blood. It wouldn't be that easy though; as he watched the wound hardened into nothing but a thin, black line beneath the torn cloth of his shirt. Yet the place where Crona had hit him before, in the temple, bruised. Lips parting in shock, Crona took an unwilling step backwards. It was an obvious conclusion: Soul was not proficient in using the Black Blood. He could handle the basics on his own, which made him deadly and overconfident, but without a meister to help he could not apply the abilities to multiple parts of his body. He couldn't selectively close the wound either; he had to keep his entire stomach stone hard. Already his movements had become stiff and cumbersome. And with his lax attention the blood from the first impact had become fluid beneath his intact skin, leaking through ruptured vessels and pooling.

"Ha! Newb! Come on Crona! Finish him!"

"No Ragnarok," he said sternly, frowning in thought. "We're not killing him. It's not Soul's fault he's being controlled. It's the centipede."

"What, you wanna try and get that thing off? There's no way. Might as well kill him outright and save yourself the trouble. Come on Crona, it'll be fun."

Ignoring his partner, Crona lunged. The scythe followed him with his eyes and struck at the place he should've been. But he darted to the right at the last second, bringing the tip of his sword up to Soul's shoulders. It grazed the centipede, leaving a long scratch on its chitin plates. The insect reacted violently, constricting, choking Soul and digging its pincers in even deeper. A trail of blood ran down his throat, though he didn't seem to notice. Crona remembered that, the immunity to pain, the complete lack of regard for his own body. The power of Madness seething through him. Snakes in his mind. Obedience to another's will.

"It would be fun," he murmured. "We would have so much fun."

He caught himself, digging his pale fingers into the flesh of his upper arm and biting into the side of his cheek. Not here. Not now. Still, a wild smile twisted his lips and laughter rumbled in his chest. Soul leapt away, back towards the witch who directed him. Or perhaps he needed no directing. Perhaps all she'd done was release the Madness and violence was how his manifested. Was he afraid? Did he experience satisfaction from causing pain? What, Crona wondered, was going on in the thick chaos of his mind?

"Ragnarok, Scream Resonance."

Ragnarok's tongue flailed through the air as Crona swung, emitting a pulse of black and purple energy like a devouring wall. It cut through the ground, leaving a scar on its way to the scythe. Soul blocked the attack, holding up his arms defensively and skidding back. Crona was on him in an instant, again aiming a delicate strike at the centipede. Only this time Soul was expecting that. He twisted and it was his blade that impacted flesh. The arched tip burrowed into Crona's side, eliciting a cry. Instinctively he pulled back, but the curvature of the scythe did more damage coming out, cutting forward through his skin. Blood shone like tar on the rocky, mossy earth, glinting just for a moment.

"Bloody Needle," Crona gasped, clutching at his gut.

His blood responded instantly, forming a black pike that shot up towards the insect. It missed and instead cut across Soul's forehead just above his eye, leaving a dripping trail to his hairline. Black mixed with the white of his bangs in a horrible contrast. Crona panted, frowning. The neck was such a fragile place, the easiest way to kill someone quickly. How was he supposed to strike at the witch's familiar without doing any damage to the host? Soul didn't care about his predicament, didn't give him time to think. Again he transformed his blade into a piano and again he struck a chord. Sound hit Crona in a painfully physical wave, sending him flying back. Were it not for his Black Blood, it might've cut him in half too. His back met the thick trunk of an old cedar hard, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending stars across his vision.

 _The answer is in your blood,_ he heard in the ringing stillness. _His Madness is his own, but that blood belongs to you. Go further than you dare. Push harder than you can._

"Pull your head out of your ass and get it together," scolded Ragnarok, his voice coming slowly into focus. "It's pathetic, even by your standards. You take one more hit and you're not sleeping for a week!"

Crona staggered to his feet, clutching one arm. He understood what the voice wanted from him, remembered the abyss from which it called. Just as he remembered the fear, the terrifying sensation of being entirely out of control as something inside him spread across the ground and climbed the trees. Vines of magic and Madness, a promise he was about to break. This time would be different though. Desperation drove him, but it also bound him. He would not hurt Soul anymore. Slowly, he lowered Ragnarok's blade.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"You need to be quiet now," whispered the swordsman, tucking his chin to his chest. The weapon let out what might've been a protest, but didn't manage to get the words out before he was forcibly recalled into Crona's body. "Everyone needs to be quiet."

Soul flashed his sharp teeth, preparing to take advantage of Crona's lowered defenses… but he couldn't. The Black Blood in his veins crystallized, freezing him, binding him. Slowly, trembling with effort, the meister advanced, his ice blue gaze fixed entirely on the centipede. His straining mind focused exclusively on his goal: get it off. Soul curled his fingers and Crona halted his advance, frowning. He couldn't move and concentrate at the same time, at least not enough. That was okay, something told him he didn't need to be close. He could end it from here.

 _Just like the journals. Tell it what you want and it will happen. You can make it happen._

"Bend," breathed Crona, causing the centipede to shudder and twitch. Its back arched unnaturally, pulling away from Soul even as it clung tightly to his throat. "Bend."

And the insect snapped in half. Crona peeled it from Soul's skin with his will, holding it suspended for a moment before throwing it at the witch's feet with a flick of his eyes. He had not forgotten her presence, though she'd done nothing to interfere with the battle. As the scythe crumpled into unconsciousness Crona moved his attention to the next threat. She smiled beguilingly at him, slowly clapping her hands so that the brass bands around her wrists jingled.

"Nicely executed," she praised, coming towards him.

"Don't come any closer," warned Crona, his mind still ablaze with a power he didn't recognize. A force pulsed out from the place where he stood, like a powerful wind that shook the tree branches and rattled the stones in the earth. Pendra paused, considering.

"You're starting to understand, aren't you. But you're still restrained by reason and morality. You'll never reach your full potential if you carry on like that."

"Go away. I don't know what you're talking about and I don't want to know."

"Oh come now, I really am trying to help you Crona. After all, I know what you are and what you're meant to be. This battle you're fighting, the war inside your mind, you're inevitably going to loose because that's what you were designed to do. You're a witch's creation, I don't understand why you keep pretending otherwise."

"Maybe I was created… but that doesn't matter. I'm not a tool anymore, I'm a person."

"Is that really what you think? Look at yourself. You can barely contain your power, let alone control it. Stop trying. I'm giving you a choice here, but don't push me, I can just as easily take that choice away."

"Leave me alone!"

Another pulse of energy, this time charged with static. Pendra's curls swayed, though other than that she remained unmoved. Her expression was one of annoyance and concern.

"Don't. Be. Difficult. You can't suppress what you are for much longer. It's there, squirming inside you, and I _will_ let it out."

Sweat dampened Crona's face and rolled down his back. In his core he knew exactly what the witch meant. It was taking so much to hold himself together, to restrain the urges churning inside him. The laughter. Maka would be back soon, he just had to hold out until Maka got back.

There was a long pause where the two stared at each other, unblinking. Then Pendra shifted her weight and Crona tensed, anticipating the attack. Witches, in his experience, made deadly foes. Their magic was as effective as any weapon, if not more so, and their cunning made them difficult to predict. This one, however, merely picked up a dark curl and began twisting it around her finger. A smile curled her lips, though her eyes remained wary.

"Are you afraid," she asked.

He inhaled sharply as something in his mind warped. Her voice was like an echo, a memory of something he'd been trying so hard to forget. Her garnet gaze met his knowingly and he realized with a sinking horror that he was. The sick feeling inside him, the clenching in his gut and the pressure around his chest, it was fear.

"Stop it," he whispered. He wanted to step back, to move away from her. To run away. But his body wouldn't move.

"You're shaking."

It was getting cold, so cold inside him, so hard to think about anything except the witch before him. He remembered this feeling not for the first time since their encounter, and he remembered how easy it was. How easy it still could be. Standing on the edge of this blackness, terrified and enthralled.

"No- no stop."

"Tell me what you fear."

"Every… thing…"

Crona answered instantly, automatically. And his will evaporated just as instantly, automatically. Pendra's smile widened as triumph replaced worry in her face.

"Be specific Crona. Tell me what you fear. Or better yet…"

She closed the gap between them, grasping his chin and tilting his face towards hers. He didn't resist- couldn't. His mind was blank and open, his thoughts were no longer his own. Her tongue slid easily between Crona's parted lips as her mouth clamped over his, exploring, seducing. Crona didn't respond in the slightest; his hands balled into trembling fists by his sides, his ice blue gaze staring numbly forward. The world was coated in red-black slime which dripped from the trees like sap and oozed across the ground. Grey light darkened as if eclipsed. Gummy hands clawed at him. The hands of the dead reaching up through the dirt. He barely felt her violation, didn't register what was happening or why. All he knew was cold, cold and empty. Finally she broke contact, but stayed close, whispering into his ear:

"Show me."

* * *

Maka tore through the woods, vaulting over fallen trunks and dodging around ferns. It wasn't a particularly difficult or far run, and yet she found herself gasping. Her heart pounded in her ears and, between pants, she heard her own frenzied voice.

"Papa! Papa!"

Unlike before, silence was not her only answer. Piercing screams punctuated the heavy air and stoked the fear burning inside her. The witch was bad enough, but with her familiar in control of Soul and her fingers inside Crona's mind… a routine mission had quickly turned into a crisis so bad she was frantic to find her father. Time moved outside of her control, seconds dragging like minutes and minutes dragging their heels into an eternity. Finally a voice answered. She halted abruptly, straining her ears.

"Maka!"

"Papa! Where are you?"

It was a stupid question and she knew it the moment it left her lips. Snorting in annoyance, she instead scanned the trees. His black suit would blend in, but his hair- there! A patch of deep red in the glowing green. She cried out again and he jerked. Their eyes locked.

"Maka," his voice cut the air as he crashed towards her.

Maka ran to meet him and the two collided. Spirit enveloped his daughter, tears of relief burning his sky blue eyes. She, at least, was safe. Blood was beginning to seep through her trench coat and her skin was rough from an obvious fight, but she was safe now. For a moment, Maka hugged him back, pressing her face into his chest. Then reality returned and she squirmed free.

"The witch- the one that's been after Crona, she's here! Her familiar's activated the Black Blood in Soul and Crona's holding him off."

"Maka," Spirit said seriously, still holding her shoulders. In any other situation she would've been impressed by his ability to hold it together; honestly, she'd expected him to be a weeping mess. "Crona is not stable. Even if he manages to subdue Soul, he might not stop there. With the witch being here too, we are going to need your Anti-Magic Wavelength. You need to use Papa. Can you do that?"

Maka swallowed hard, but nodded. Her father nodded back, doing something with his face that she assumed was meant to be tender and comforting. Yet worry and focus made his features sharp. He transformed and Maka spun him briefly, testing the balance. The weapon felt light and natural, but that was to be expected. He was her parent; they shared a bond that couldn't be broken. _Crona's not evil_ she told herself, firmly, gripping the scythe. _It won't hurt him and it won't hurt Soul. Only the witch is evil. They'll both be okay._

She hadn't been paying attention to the direction she'd come from or the path she'd run. She didn't need to. Crona's strained wavelength called to her, twisting, becoming more distorted with every passing second. Her legs and lungs burned, her anxiety churning sickeningly in her stomach. And then, just as she came around a thick cedar and into view, everything inside her turned to slime. Soul was lying on the ground, his clothing torn and clotted with Black Blood. It had hardened and sealed his wounds, so he wasn't in immediate danger near as she could tell. No, what disturbed her, what put her heart in a vice and set her mind buzzing, were the other two figures.

Pendra had one hand around the back of Crona's head, her fingers entwined in his pink hair. Her body was pressed against him and her mouth covered his as if to suck out his soul through the opening. And Crona was just standing there. His eyes were wide and blank, his hands fists at his sides, his wavelength as unstable and insane as at their picnic. When the Little One had broken his mind. Upon their arrival Pendra broke away, whispering something into his ear and smirking over his shoulder at Maka. Even now, staring into her garnet eyes, her soul was faint, more of a phantom than a person. She couldn't have been a particularly powerful witch, of that much Maka was certain. But still there was something else.

"Fuck off!"

Ragnarok burst from Crona's back with a vengeance and delivered a hard decisive blow. His tiny fists made an audible crack as they met with the witch's skull and she stumbled back, stunned and bewildered. Putting space between herself and Crona. In a flash Maka was in that space, livid, swinging wildly. At the last second the witch regained her sensibilities and leapt away, landing nimbly on a log.

"That's not going to save you," Maka snarled, heightening her resonance with her father. His black and grey blade lengthened, glowing blue with pure energy. The witch frowned at it, swaying just a little.

"I don't need saving, least of all from you," she spat back, curling her fingers into fists.

"Not from where I'm standing. It's over. You've failed."

"Oh have I? I don't think so. Go ahead, deliver your blow. I'm not even here."

Maka barely heard her over her own rage. She adjusted her grip and leaped, slicing through the air and cutting diagonally across the witch's chest. The blade impacted something, of that much she was sure. But that something felt wrong… Her body didn't fill the space it occupied. There had been resistance at first, like flesh, solid and firm. And then just nothingness. A large centipede the length of a person fell to the ground, its two halves twitching for a moment before going still as Maka's heart. Moss covered silence engulfed her as anger gave way to simmering disappointment.

"Astral projection," she muttered, relaxing her stance and grip. "She used a familiar to give herself a physical presence. Damn it. I should've known- I _did_ know."

"My little girl is so smart!" Her father's voice burst from the scythe as he took the opportunity to gush.

His face flashed in the arched blade and he looked like he was going to say more, but a stream of profanity drew their attention towards Crona. Ragnarok was still poking out of his back, cursing and wailing on the top of his bowed head. The pink haired meister didn't seem to notice or perhaps he just didn't care. His whole body was trembling visibly, his insanity brimming. Maka tried to say something, his name maybe, but her own fear held her tongue. First Soul and now-

"Cut this shit out! I mean it! Do you hear me?! You said you weren't going to do this again! Stop it Crona! Pull yourself together!"

"She wants to know what I fear…" he murmured in a low, bland voice. His eyes were hidden behind his bangs, his face in shadows. "She wants to see…"

The Demon Sword swung at his meister again, hitting him in the temple so hard he staggered, releasing his arm to regain his balance. A soft giggle rumbled in the air like distant thunder, growing closer. Madness electrified the air. Breath froze inside Maka's chest.

"You said you wouldn't do it again," repeated Ragnarok, sounding desperate.

At that laughter burst from Crona and he threw back his head, sending wide, void eyes skyward. Ragnarok screamed like none of them had ever heard him scream before, not in anger or glee, but in pain. Whatever his meister was doing, whatever force he was using to reliquefy him and pull him back, it hurt the weapon.

"Crona stop," Maka yelled, finding her voice. "You have to fight this! You can't give in!"

"Do you want to see it too? My fear. Do you want to see what I am? They say moss only grows on the North side of a tree but here it grows everywhere. This is a rainforest. Isn't that funny? It's a rainforest, so the moss grows everywhere."

He was smiling a wide, mirthless smile, his fingers spread and tense. At first Maka thought something was moving at his feet and her gaze flicked downward. Something was moving, just not what she'd expected or even anything that made sense. His robe was flowing as if liquid, lengthening, descending to his feet and then spreading out into a pool. From that pool thorny vines began to grow outwards, two-dimensional shadows that coiled and reached. She took an instinctive step back, readying her father's scythe. Crona giggled again as a concoction of magic and Madness saturated the air like mist. Their eyes locked and she could see black seeping into the blue of his irises like blood in the water.

"The moss here grows everywhere, not just on the North side."

"Maka, you need to get ready. We can't let Crona hurt anyone. Do you understand?!"

"Crona please," she said, ignoring her father. "Please stop."

She reached out to him with her soul, fingers brushing against gears as they ground against each other in disharmony. He flinched, raising his arms defensively and stepping back. The vines stretched, reaching the trees and climbing them. Sap seeped from the line of contact.

"What's with that light," Crona snarled. "A pitch black being like me… I can't… She said she wanted to see."

"Maka," Spirit muttered warningly. Her grip around the hilt tightened, yet she made no other movements.

"The light is me trying to find you," Maka breathed, as if speaking to a spooked animal. "I know you're there, I can feel you. Come back to me."

"Maka?"

He lowered his arms, peering at her with eyes that swirled with darkness. A shaky gasp passed over his lips and he swallowed. The vines shivered and pulled back just a little.

"Yes, I'm right here. It's okay now."

"No it's not. Maka I- it burns inside me like acid. It _is_ me, I can't control it anymore. I'm so tired… I didn't realize how tired I am… This… is a rainforest."

"Crona stay with me!"

"I can't," he sobbed, grabbing one arm across his chest and frowning. Tears were starting to glint in his eyes and, as she watched, one rolled down his cheek. From the other eye a bead of Black Blood reached capacity and ran down the side of his nose and onto his lips. He licked it off, sweat dampening his face as he fought for his sanity. "Maka- your Anti-Magic Wavelength- do it now- before I-"

"I won't attack you so quit asking! You just need to calm down. Then we can go home-"

"You promised! You promised you'd keep me safe! She wants to see what I fear but I don't want to hurt you. Help me not hurt you."

"Crona…"

A smile broke across his face and he started to giggle again. The black was taking over the blue and the vines were growing and twisting. She felt them seethe under her feet and begin to cling to her boots. Nimbly she leapt back, onto the log where the witch had been standing. Her own vision was blurred, her heart hammering in her chest. His distorted wavelength, the magic and insanity boiling inside him, it was toxic. And it was spreading.

"Listen baby girl," Spirit said in a squishy voice. "My job here is to make sure Crona doesn't hurt anyone. It was the condition for him coming with you and he agreed. If you can't do this then I will take care of it."

"No," she answered firmly, gripping the scythe tightly. Tears ran down her cheeks as she blinked them from her eyes. "There's nothing you can do against him on your own. There's nothing you can do to stop the Madness. But I can."

There was a pause filled with Crona's unstable giggles that seemed to last an eternity.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes I'm sure."

 _Crona's not evil_ , she thought again, preparing herself. Resonance with her father was natural, even easier than with Soul. The power built quickly inside her. _It won't hurt him. It's just going to break through his insanity. It's not going to hurt him._

"The moss grows only on the North side, where the light is most intense. Here there is no light, yet the moss grows everywhere. Isn't that funny?"

"That's enough; I'm bringing you back! Genie Hunter!"

Her father's blade lengthened around her, glowing a brilliant blue and shimmering with a prism of power. She leapt towards the dark figure, yelling and swinging in a precise, controlled arc across his middle. Crona didn't move, didn't flinch or even try to dodge. His eyes closed in resignation, his face relaxing in the suspended instant of her attack. Maka landed softly behind him, panting and sweating with effort. Inside her a sickness was trying to push back against the certainty she'd felt when she'd struck. Her soul stretched out and for one terrifying second it felt nothing. She spun, eyes wide, heart pounding.

The pink haired meister had turned to face her. One hand pressed against a smoking wound in his gut while the other hung limply beside him. He looked at her with confusion as the gash sizzled and hissed, burning into him, attacking the evil. The evil that was a part of him. Maka looked back, face tight, willing him to stabilize. Vines of Black Blood withdrew to their source, leaving gashes in the bark and earth, returning to his feet as his robe shortened to its original length. Black mist cleared from his eyes as they turned from blue to storm cloud grey. Breath passed over his lips, slow and regular, and he blinked at her.

"Crona," she probed, hopeful. "Are you… gonna be okay now?"

"I…" he tried, wavering.

Maka dropped the scythe and rushed forward, catching him as he collapsed. Together they sank to the ground, Maka kneeling with Crona wrapped in her arms. Tenderly, she pushed hair from his eyes, tracing the contours of his face. He didn't answer her. At least, not verbally. Instead he reached up, brushing her temple with the tips of his fingers. A small, warm smile curled his lips as she pressed her cheek into his palm. She didn't understand why, but she was sobbing.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone for their well wishes! I'm doing much much better now; my psychiatrist changed my medication a little and hopefully I won't have to deal with the depression as frequently. Also, I love all the reviews and your analysis of the chapters. I'm always looking to do better and make sure you're all enjoying the story as much as I am. Apologies for the long update time, I just got back from a period of no internet during my uncle's memorial. Hopefully delays will only be caused by my slow writing in the future. Again, thank you all so much. It really means a lot to me. Enjoy!**

* * *

"I'll bet you're all wondering why I've called this meeting."

"Umm, not to be rude, but isn't this about Crona?"

"Correct! Excellent work Marie, I was sure at least one of you would guess."

"Lord Death, I doubt there is anyone in this room that didn't instantly know why they'd been summoned. It was obvious the moment Spirit and Maka returned from Washington literally carrying Soul and Crona. The question isn't why we're meeting, it's how are we going to handle this situation."

"To the point, as always. Well, there's nothing for it! Professor Stein has hit the nail on the head. Thoughts?"

"I'm unclear as to why Crona was allowed out in the first place," said Kid, lacing his fingers. "A witch's familiar was found in his bedroom, here in Death City. Why was it assumed he would be safe outside the walls?"

"It wasn't," Spirit sighed. He looked off into the blue horizon and spoke to it rather than the people in attendance. "Lord Death only agreed because I said I'd take care of Crona if something happened."

"You were going to "take care" of him," Marie repeated in an outraged and dangerous tone. "And how, exactly, were you planning to "take care" of Crona?"

"You know how so quit asking!"

"Don't be too hard on Spirit, he was only trying to help. Crona was making such a fuss over being told he couldn't go. I don't want him to feel like a prisoner, but the fact of the matter is he's not safe. I needed assurances that someone would stop him, if it came to that."

"And someone did," Stein interjected, his voice slightly muffled by the hand he was using to hold his cigarette to his lips. "Just not the someone we planned. Though really we shouldn't be surprised. Letting Crona go on the mission was a bad call-"

"I agree. I don't mean to be disrespectful, that's not the kind of man I was, but he's too dangerous to be allowed to wander like that. Even with a Death Scythe."

" _However_ , we learned something vital: Crona's Madness, at least when induced by a witch, can be subdued using Maka's Anti-Magic wavelength."

"How does that help us," asked Kid. "Maka's the only one currently at the Academy with that capability. Are you suggesting he never be allowed away from her?"

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"I'm sorry, but restricting Crona's freedoms any further is unethical! He's not responsible for any of this; we can't punish him."

"It's not a punishment if we're trying to keep him safe."

"Imprisonment is imprisonment regardless of the motivation behind it."

"Marie you weren't there. You didn't see what happened, the way that witch had him at her mercy. You didn't see him just… snap."

"Speaking of, can you describe it again? It doesn't sound at all like normal behavior for the Black Blood."

"The best descriptor I can think of is vines that were- I don't know, coming from him. Not out of him, but on the ground at his feet. And he was bleeding from his eyes. The rambling was normal enough, considering how he acted before coming to the Academy."

"You also said he was fighting the Madness?"

"Yeah. There were moments when he'd come back and ask us to stop him. He knew exactly what that entailed and he asked anyway. Practically begged," Spirit said, shooting Marie a pointed look.

"So he… he'd rather die than let the witch take him, is that what you're saying?"

Fat tears had collected in Marie's eyes, glinting like crystal in the one not concealed by her eye patch. Stein moved to her side and grasped at her waist, pulling her close. She curled her fingers in his lab coat, sniffing.

"What interests me," the professor interjected, changing tack quickly. "Isn't that he resisted the Madness. This behavior has been well documented since he and Maka became close. Nor is it that this witch Pendra overwhelmed him so easily. She's already demonstrated her knowledge of his conditioning and ability to access the triggers left by Medusa."

"So what has caught your attention? Please enlighten us."

"Spirit, you said Ragnarok was yelling at him before the Black Blood was reformed into vines. What was it: "you weren't going to do this again"?"

"Something like that."

"Ah yes, I was wondering about that too. I thought you perhaps could shed some light on it, Professor."

"The vines are a new development; I've never observed them in all my work with the Black Blood. Crona has been very dedicated to the research, it is possible he conducted his own experiments without my knowledge and those are what Ragnarok was referencing. There was one instance in which the Blood formed a sphere. The Madness intensity dropped just before, then spiked after the sphere's formation. I suspect that drop in intensity is the result of some biochemical process. Soul was deeply disturbed."

"When I was alive I wouldn't have changed the subject like this, but what happened to Soul? Naigus says he's got a blood infection?"

"The residual Black Blood held his wounds closed until they could be properly treated. He probably won't even scar. But the magical proteins left from the witch's familiar are causing an immune response. It's fortunately not too serious; he should be well in a few days."

"He doesn't remember a thing after seeing the witch though. Maka said one of the witch's familiars bit him and was wrapped around his neck. I didn't see it myself; by the time I got there he was already down. I assumed Crona got it off somehow…"

"Pendra's developed some kind of venom that activates the Black Blood, that much we can conclude. From Crona's previous encounter we can also conclude that this venom puts the victim in a trance like state during which they are at least partially under the witch's influence. I don't think this venom is unique to the Black Blood either, as the hematology isn't particularly different from normal blood. Soul is connected to Crona through the Black Blood to the extent that Crona's Madness affects him. It is possible that Crona was able to exploit this connection in some way to remove the centipede. We won't know until they wake up."

"There is another component to this conversation I would like to bring in. Professor Stein, if you would kindly share your analysis of the sample of Black Blood taken from Crona after his encounter with the centipede prior to this excursion."

"When I screened for magical proteins," Stein started cautiously, holding Marie tightly. "There were some present, as expected. What was not expected was the fact that there were three distinct magical signatures in the proteins. One was the same as what I found after the incident with the rabbit, some residue of Medusa's magic. One I am assuming belongs to the witch Pendra and resulted from venom from her familiar. The third…"

"Is it Crona's," Kid asked sharply. "Are you implying that he is capable of magic?"

"Wouldn't that make _him_ a witch?"

"I'm not implying anything. This third magical wavelength is very close to Medusa's, but distinct. Is it possible that Crona preformed magic of some sort and that's why the room reportedly shook? Yes. It is not entirely implausible either; he is the offspring of a witch. Yet an individual who is both a witch and a meister is extremely rare, and these individuals tend to be particularly resistant to both The Pull and Madness."

"So what _are_ you saying?"

"I'm just stating my results and making conjectures. If Crona does possess magical abilities they are latent. And not particularly powerful."

"If…" Marie started tentatively. "Let's just assume that he does have magic. Could the vines be the result of some combination of that magic with his Madness? Is it possible that the way the witch is manipulating him is cause his control over the Black Blood to… warp?"

"It's possible," Stein smiled. "The vines _are_ a new development, as is the magic. Unfortunately we can't test this hypothesis outside of Crona's body. My lab lacks the capability to simulate magical wavelengths, so I can't study the effects of magic on the Black Blood."

"Basically we have no idea what is going on and we have no idea how to find out."

"Eloquently put, Spirit."

"So what the hell are we supposed to do about it!"

"What _can_ we do about it? This witch has already demonstrated she can get her familiars into the city, so even if we lock him up there's no guarantee Crona would be safe."

"Where would we put him? The dungeons? Deeper, beneath the school?"

"I cannot believe what I'm hearing! Lock up Crona?! Like he's some kind of criminal?!"

"What's your suggestion then!?"

"He stays as he is, with Maka," she said flatly. "She's the only one who has consistently been able to keep his Madness in check, even with this Pendra's interference. I hate it, but I agree he needs to stay in the city until we've dealt with the witch, but locking him in some hole isn't the answer."

"Marie is right," Lord Death affirmed after a long pause. "We have the strength to fight Crona if need be, although we should avoid it if at all possible. And the best way to accomplish that is to prevent his Madness from being activated at all. Professor Stein, can you create wards specifically against this witch's magical wavelength?"

"They would be too weak to be effective against the witch herself, and if a familiar was inside a host as was the case with the rabbit it might be shielded, but other than that I should be able to manufacture something along those lines. We can place them in and around their apartment."

"Are we sure that will be sufficient? The bond between Maka and Crona is strong, but do we want to rest the safety of this city solely on that?"

"Until we kill the witch it's the best option we have, Kid. Tell Maka that she is not to allow Crona out of her sight. No more missions, either. The rest of us will just have to keep a watchful eye. The sooner this is resolved the sooner we can go back to business as usual. Sounds good to everyone? Yes? Alrighty then, meeting adjourned!"

* * *

Crona stood in darkness. Infinite, silky, darkness. The air was still except for his shallow, barely controlled breath. The vacuum was silent but for the pounding of his heart. Nothing suggested the void was inhabited, let alone dangerous; still, Crona felt uneasy. Agitated. What was he doing here? Where was "here?" How could he be so horribly alone? Time was infinite, stretching into a wire tight eternity before him. And at the same time it was a cage, trapping him in an invisible net. He couldn't move forward or backwards, neither into the future nor memory. In his core Crona sensed this was meant as a mercy, but he couldn't shake the fear. This sensation of being defenseless and cornered. Again, why was he here?

"Hello," he called tentatively. "Is… is there anyone?"

Stagnation. Crona shivered, feeling bands of panic tighten around his ribs.

"Please. Please, I don't like it here. I want to go."

But where would he go? A face formed in the emptiness, round, with wide emerald eyes. Mousey blond hair pulled into thin pigtails above her ears. A smile made of sunlight. Maka. She was the place he belonged. She was home and he wanted to go home. Sobs tore at his throat when he realized that, not just because he ached to be with her, but because her image broke the spell of the dark. Goo with a red sheen bled out from where he stood, rising into cedar and logs, coating earth made of stone and moss. Dripping from tree branches, slow and viscous. There was no color aside from black and red; they overwhelmed the green that grew everywhere. Now he knew exactly where he was and it was worse.

Maka had been there with him, and Soul. And someone else, someone whose words had given him the final push into this place- into Madness. No more self. No more Crona. Nevertheless he was here, still Crona. Control was the wrong word for it though. Figures emerged from the slime, one on the ground unconscious and the other… the other opposed him. She had her feet planted, a scythe at the ready. For what purpose he didn't know. They were frozen like statues, figments of a memory he was still trying to grasp. There was a third figment, a woman with dark skin and curls. Garnet eyes pierced him like a knife in the back. Slowly, terrified, he turned to face her. Pendra smiled beguilingly, her gaze moving up and down his body in an inspection. Why did she move when the others couldn't?

"You're still resisting, even here. I'm impressed and irritated... and fascinated. One of Medusa's creations shouldn't be so insolent, yet here you stand. Madness is what you are; this "self" you're clinging to isn't real, you understand that right?"

"You- you're the one that's not r-real," he stammered, grasping his arm tightly across his chest. "None of th-this is happening. It-it's all in my head."

"But that doesn't make it not real. This place exists, this event occurred. I may be just the residue Pendra left in your mind, intentions you've drawn through the connection, and yet I'm as real as you are."

"That's not true!"

"This is reality. A moment drawn out like a bead into a thread. Soon it will collapse back and whatever comes next will happen. For now we exist in a limbo, so lets take this opportunity to chat. Frankly."

"I… I don't want to."

"There's no alternative. Come now Crona, why are you so difficult? What I'm asking for isn't even hard."

"I said I don't want to! Leave me alone!"

"I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to stop."

The witch didn't flinch or even move. Her body was a pillar of certainty, her garnet orbs smoldering pits of purpose. On the other hand, the meister quaked. Shivers ran up and down his spine and goose bumps made waves across his flesh. Crona felt himself soften in a uniquely unpleasant way, like wax. There was a long, viscous pause.

"Why," he asked, his voice airy and defeated. "What do you want from me?"

Her smile widened as a look of hunger came into her eyes. She stepped forward and he retreated, pulling away as she reached for his face. Brass bands jingled.

"Everything. Your broken mind, your twisted soul, your deformed body, I want to own you. I want to unleash you. I want to be with you, to have you at my fingertips as you consume the world."

Again she advanced, grasping at him. This time he found he couldn't get away; his body refused to move. A shudder ran through his thin frame as she placed a hand on his cheek and ran her thumb down his lips. Their eyes didn't meet. Instead she stared at his mouth as if looking into a place deep within him. Her hand dropped to his neck, fingers tracing his tendons down to his sternum.

"A pitch black being at the center of soul resonance, magic, and Madness, created specifically to destroy. My desire for you will not be sated and my obsession will never end. The person you think you are is just a shell and inside your true self is boiling. Our goals are aligned; you will submit to me."

"No…" he whispered, trembling. Still, he persisted, his will hardening against her arrogance. "I won't let you control me. I won't be your tool."

Pendra's gaze flicked upwards, locking with Crona's. Anger burned in the faceted chasms, like a denied child, her body going rigid with contained fury.

"How can I say this such that you'll understand? You. Have. No. Choice. I don't care what you believe; that's the truth."

Suddenly her fingers made a fist in the front of his robe and she pulled him off balance. Her other hand went for his abdomen, burrowing into it. Crona howled as his flesh tore open, but her mouth quickly covered his, muffling the sound. He could feel her digging around inside him, her tongue swirling around his, her teeth raking across his lower lip. Flailing, he found her shoulders and gripped them tightly, trying to push her away. Then something hardened in his gut. Not his blood, though. A foreign body was growing and Pendra had a hold of it. She unlocked their lips, releasing his robe, and he collapsed forward onto her chest, choking. Her hand settled on the back oh his neck, her mouth muttering words he didn't hear into his hair. Slowly, excruciatingly, she pulled the thing out.

A pale hand streaked with glinting black, long fingers curled tightly around her wrist. Followed by an arm clad in black. Another arm reached out from the hole and braced itself on his hip as the form clawed its way from inside him. Pink hair dripping with Black Blood, a face with a sharp chin and an upturned nose. Smiling manically. It was… him? Yet not. The witch pulled the other out of his body and Crona collapsed, curling into a ball of agony. Giggles drew his attention upwards. "Crona" stood over him, covered in blood from his birth. More leaked from his eyes and hairline, from his mouth and the nail beds on his fingers. Black. Madness seethed in all its red viscosity. Thorny vines reached outwards from the place where he stood.

"Crona stop this!"

"Maka?"

Both Crona's turned towards the sound. Her eyes were hard and crystalline, determination radiating out from her in waves like heat. The other smiled even wider, tilting his head to one side and laughing outright.

"Maka run!"

He yelled, rolling, trying to crawl towards her. Pendra interceded, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head up. She brought her teeth to his ear.

"It's high time she sees what you really are, don't you think?"

"You have to fight this! You can't give in!"

"Please Maka. Please get out of here," he whimpered, powerless and hemorrhaging.

It was getting cold; his fingers were going numb and his vision was getting blurry. "Crona" moved towards her, staggering, bending unnaturally. He didn't speak. Vines swayed around him, peeling up from the ground and arching over his shoulders. Maka readied the scythe, but she didn't strike. Why wouldn't she fight!

"Don't make me do this," she warned, though there was a plaintive edge to her voice.

"Run!"

She didn't hear his cries, didn't even see him lying in the dirt. Her attention was entirely focused on the "Crona" in front of her. It wasn't enough. The thorns waved in the air like charmed snakes as "Crona" chuckled, seemingly amused by her attempts to calm him. Then they tensed and dove, arcing over his shoulders and speeding towards their target. There were several sick thuds and red sprayed out behind Maka. Dark, shining stains grew on her trench coat around the vines that had impaled her. She didn't make a sound. Crona screamed.

* * *

Maka rested her cheek on a folded arm, ignoring the aches in her body with practiced efficiency. She'd been in the infirmary since their return. In a chair between two medical beds, to be precise. She'd barely moved from the spot. Why would she? What was most important to her was still here.

Both Soul and Crona had been unconscious for the trip back to Death City, though Soul began to stir when they entered the school. By the time they'd gotten him onto a bed he was awake and protesting, and maybe a few hours after that he was on his feet. Dizzy, panting, and shivering, but on his feet. He wasn't leaving though, and neither was Maka. They couldn't. Crona was in some kind of torpor. His breath was shallow and quick, his eyes frantic beneath closed lids, but his body hadn't so much as twitched since he'd passed out in Maka's arms.

That had been… how long ago? Hours? Days? She didn't know and didn't really care. When Dr. Stein had come to investigate she'd spoken to him from the chair by Crona's bed. When Soul couldn't take it anymore and began to pace she'd stayed seated, holding Crona's limp hand. And when light turned into darkness turned into light again, she'd just stared into that tortured face framed with pink hair. Regret was the wrong word, still, she felt something deeply unpleasant mix with her hatred for the witch Pendra. Sleep overtook her without her permission and she was left alone with the uncomfortable sensation of fear. Fear that boiled inside her, foaming, overflowing.

Screams shredded the air. The hand she'd been holding tore itself free, the bed that supported half her weight quaked. Maka sat up sharply, her emerald gaze fixating instantly on the source of the disturbance. Crona was awake. He was sitting bolt upright, back rigid, hands curled into white fists in the sheets, howling with complete abandonment. Wide, ice blue eyes were unseeing, pale, sweat dampened skin was unfeeling. Crona was awake, but he wasn't present.

"Hey," Soul barked, shock making his voice sharper than he meant it to be. "It's okay. You're okay."

He moved to Maka's side and reached out to the terrified meister, going for a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Some contact to bring him back to reality. Crona flinched away violently, toppling out of the bed and landing hard. The IV needle in his arm broke as the Black Blood hardened, shearing it in half, and the imbedded half was quickly spat out. It shot across the room and hit one of the glass cabinets, creating a spider's web of cracks in the pane. No one noticed. On the floor, Crona scooted backwards towards the nearest corner, wild and babbling. Soul made a move towards him, but Maka was faster. She slid from her chair like a liquid and crawled towards the pink haired meister on all fours.

"Listen to me," she commanded, pleading and determined. "Crona it's alright now, I promise it's alright. You're safe. You just need to breathe. I'm going to touch you, okay? Don't be afraid, it's me."

Tenderly, she reached out to him, keeping her distance and three limbs planted. If he panicked and sent out needles of Black Blood, she would need to get out of the way quickly. At least they were already in the infirmary. Ice blue eyes snapped to her, completely blinded by the horror of his nightmares. Yet some recognition began to bloom there as he stared into her face.

"Maka? Maka y-you're n-not hurt?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, deciding that the cut across her back left by Soul's possessed blade didn't count as being hurt. "Everyone's fine."

"S-Soul," Crona persisted, his eyes flicking to the weapon, who smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

"It takes more than that to take out a cool guy like me."

Maka's fingers brushed Crona's chest and he started, but didn't pull away like before. Slowly, she inched closer, resting her palms on his shoulders. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, his breathing still frantic. When he didn't protest she embraced him, pressing her cheek over his racing heart.

"It's all alright now. There's no need to be afraid. Will you breathe with me? Can you try?"

She inhaled, deep and long, and felt Crona's chest expand in jerking motions. Calmly, she exhaled through her mouth. Crona's breath tingled her scalp. One. They continued like that for several minutes, until his ribs unbound and his throat released. Still, the fear hadn't subsided. He was trembling, pressing into the corner for protection. Maka turned to ask Soul for his medication, only to find the scythe standing behind her with an amber bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She smiled at him, releasing Crona to accept both. He really was a cool guy.

* * *

One bitter white pill and fifteen minutes later, Crona was calm and the room was packed. Professor Stein, for once, was not smoking (Naigus would have none of it), so instead his hands were shoved somewhat aggressively into his pockets. His expressing was a mixture of annoyance and keen interest. He'd of course taken blood from both Soul and Crona when they'd returned, but the data wasn't in yet. The quartz crystals required more time to collect the magical emissions. However, he felt he knew what the results would be. Soul would show the presence of the witch Pendra's magical wavelength while Crona would have between two and three. Pendra's magic had to be present for her to manipulate Crona at all, perhaps built up from previous exposure. Based on his reaction in the forest, Stein expected Medusa's programming had been activated and he would find that residue as well. And finally, he expected that peak that was so close to Medusa's to appear. The tell tale signs that Crona himself had used magic.

Marie had budged Maka out of her chair, forcing her to stand with Soul on the other side of the bed. Kid stood by Marie, Black Star and Tsubaki were back by the broken cabinet, and Liz and Patty were seated against the wall. Naigus hovered in the corner, watching with her intense blue eyes.

"I'll kill her," muttered Black Star time. "That witch doesn't stand a chance against me. I'll kill her for sure."

Tsubaki placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, signaling for quiet as she gave Dr. Stein an expectant look. They were here to support their friend, but if he got overwhelmed they'd be asked to leave. And she wanted to stay with Crona. The professor, on the other hand, was gathering information and diagnosing the situation. She was afraid of the implications. What were their plans for Crona?

"How do you feel," Steine asked professionally.

"Better…" Crona answered after a moment. "I… don't like the vines. They make me feel sick."

"So you have used them before."

Crona flinched. The room was silent, heavy with curiosity and a tinge of judgment. He knew what they were thinking: how could he have been so reckless? Why hadn't he said anything? How long had he been endangering the city with his experiments? He knew he had to answer, truthfully, that his privilege to stay at the DWMA hinged on his answering truthfully. And he wanted to stay.

"Yes," he said finally, reluctantly. "But only once! In the park. I was trying to make another black sphere with my blood, so we could study it with the WS. I wanted to know what it was. Then the vines came out and I… Ragnarok brought me back and I wasn't going to do it again."

"How did you get the centipede off of Soul? Were you able to cut it off?"

"I tried to, I really tried, but it was on his neck and I didn't know how to deal with it being on his neck. I didn't want to hurt him, so I… I told it to come off…"

"You told it?"

"W-with my mind. I don't know how, but I knew I could do that. His Black Blood is mine, I held him still with it and told the centipede to break. And it did. But the witch- she asked me what I fear and I- I-"

"You don't have to say it," soothed Marie, giving her fiancé a sharp look. He made a face, but backed off.

"Maka," he directed the next question to her and she started, surprised. "How did you know to use your Anti-Magic Wavelength? How did you know it wouldn't kill Crona?"

"Because he's not evil," she bit indignantly. "The Anit-Magic Wavelength only hurts evil, so there was no need to worry about that! Besides, it was Crona's idea."

All attention turned back to the pink haired meister and he flushed, looking down at his knees with great intensity. He could hear the question with out them asking.

"I don't really remember… after the witch the world went dark and I didn't know… But I- there are moments and I… Lady Medusa's magic, the snakes inside me- the vines, they are evil. They had to be killed and the Anti-Magic Wavelength was the only way. I don't want to hurt anyone and I won't hurt Maka, so even if I died too, it would've been okay."

Most of the room bit their tongue, yet Marie could not. Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for his hand, squeezing it.

"Don't say things like that," she chided in a wavering but hard tone. "Don't even think it. It's not okay if you die. It's not."

Crona gave her a sad look, confusion and gratitude and more than he knew how to deal with stirring in his storm cloud gaze.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he repeated, softer this time, as if that explained everything.

"And you won't," protested Maka, grabbing his other hand. "You didn't. Everything was fine and everything is going to be fine. We'll get through this, you'll see."

"My father's decided we need to keep a closer eye on Crona," interjected Kid, hoping to wrap up the discussion and let Crona and Soul get some rest. The weapon hadn't said a word, but he was looking very pale.

"What's that mean," Black Star asked, unable to contain himself.

"It means just that, we need to stay by him. Maka especially. No more missions, no more going out alone. We'll put wards against the witch's familiars around your apartment. And of course the school already has protection from magic. Still, we need to be vigilant. Just until we've hunted this witch down and dealt with her. Crona, is that acceptable to you."

He licked his lips, looking defeated. It was for his protection, and that of the entire city, he understood that. Nevertheless, to always have someone there, always with people, it sounded overwhelming. Not as overwhelming as being another witch's puppet though. Sighing heavily, he nodded.


	23. Chapter 23

Pendra was livid. Of course, she was trying not to be. She was trying to describe her state of being as "vexed" or "irritated" because mild language always made the situation feel less extreme. Mild language made her feel like the blockage was minor, the setback temporary, and it kept the lava of her temper beneath the artificially cool surface of her skin. It kept her from getting overly excited and making stupid, adolescent, costly mistakes. All in all, minimizing her anger was her go to tactic for dealing with the ever-present failures in science. This time it wasn't working. Pendra couldn't help herself; she was livid.

An empty round bottom flask (one of her 250s) shattered against the sandstone wall, its last cries of existence echoing in the darkness. Another one, this time 500 mL, hit nearby, causing the centipedes that had taken shelter there to flee in a writhing mass. Their red legs flashed in the gloomy candlelight, their black chitin bodies glinting like eyes. She turned away from them and slammed her hands onto a modest wooden bench, drowning out the jingle of brass bands with a boiling scream.

"Damn it!"

Again she slammed her open palms onto the table, causing the candles to quiver. To her right a long, thin, glass column packed with a hydrophobic, waxy substance cowered on top of some paperwork. Without thinking too much she seized that too and prepared to send it to her graveyard of broken glass against the far wall, but hesitated. Underneath was a sequence of notes and schematics, chaotic charts of and overstuffed tables. And beneath that a piece of work that looked very different.

Pendra set the column down and cleared away the papers so she could look at it. Old and fragile, the cellulose looked yellow in the flickering light, but the black ink stood out as vivid as ever. A diagram depicting a lithe figure stared back at her, half its flesh cut away to reveal inner workings of engineered blood. Zoomed in segments showed carbon nanotubes aligning and returning to a disordered state in response to some unspecified lamda. The other side had an inset of a brain, the limbic components highlighted, and a series of very old, very difficult to translate runes. Nevertheless she had translated and memorized them:

 _Suppress the immune response through constant exposure to my magical proteins at very low doses, first in the native form then the active. Isolate a specific neurological response and tie protein activation to the final product of resultant cascade, such that the magical proteins' effect is triggered by a phrase or other such stimuli. Subject becomes compliant. More reliable results still require direct application of my magical wavelength._

That was it. That was all she'd had to go on. One page, a few sentences of notes and a picture. It had been plenty. Pendra was not a powerful witch in the classical sense; that is to say, she did not perform well in a physical fight. This was not to be confused with helplessness. Astral projection was a powerful psychological tool, one that allowed her to make many… friends. Her astral self could observe events unnoticed, peer into the minds of weak willed individuals. In the event that she needed a physical presence, her familiars provided a medium. More recently, she'd even discovered their venom could overcome the mental barriers of previously untouchable people and give her access to their secrets. There were drawbacks, namely the vulnerability of her body during these information-gathering sessions, but we all must make the best of the hand we're dealt.

Naturally her interests developed towards magical manipulation rather than offensive capabilities, and finding ways to control humans had been the focus of her research. They brought her supplies, killed each other and themselves at her command, burned their own towns. She relished the destruction, being the cause of it, and laughed at the DWMA for never noticing her handiwork. At first. Art without recognition suffocates and lately she'd been unable to satisfy the he Pull with simple riots. This creature though, this Crona, could change everything for her. To possess him was to control power like she'd never imagined.

So she changed tack, developing a new system inspired by this treasured page from Medusa's work. Proteins isolated from her own blood, her very essence, which could convert into their active form with commands from her astral self. It was tricky, she needed her familiars to act as conduits. But challenges are just unexplored opportunities. Now she had familiars made of her plasma. Upon entering a host through the ear they dissolved into magical protein, coated in chitosan to prevent an immune response (particularly in humans) and increase blood circulation time. Once active, the coating was shed and the proteins traveled to the brain. This of course caused toxicity in her human hosts, but she anticipated it wouldn't be a problem in Crona. Its blood was used to magical proteins and could withstand their hydrophobicity. Once in the brain they controlled the host until either cleared or recalled. They returned to the blood stream with the cerebral spinal fluid, entered the alimentary canal through the cilia in the small intestine, and were expelled through the mouth.

At least, that was the theory. In practice things were more challenging. The hydrophobicity was not a problem for Crona, as expected. What she hadn't anticipated was the potency of his immune system and the speed with which it cleared even her stealthy chitosan coated proteins. A lot of patience had gone into coaxing his system to stop attacking her probes. Constant exposure through frequent injection at low doses. Slowly it had built up a tolerance, and then slowly she'd built up a functioning concentration. Enough to begin manipulating its behavior. Enough to begin taking control. Then that _meister_ had swooped in and ruined everything. It had decided to love her, that it was a person not a tool, and become too strong for her formulation.

So she'd needed a more potent cocktail and a more cunning delivery vehicle. Which is where the girl came in. Vera, with her pretty body and fierce amber eyes and burning hatred, proved perfect. She held Crona responsible for the death of her family and destruction of her life. Her lust for vengeance had been the crack through which Pendra had forced her will, twisting and consuming the girl. The familiars, though vibrating with magic, were protected by the host and could slip into the city undetected. Vera was the perfect vector to infect Crona with the witch's corruption.

Well, she _had been_ perfect. Now the steady exposure to Pendra's proteins was beginning to poison her. The witch could see her through the eyes of dozens of centipedes, curled up on a mattress in a barren room, sweating and shaking. Her breath was shallow, her skin pale. What a pathetic sight she was now. Soon she would die, a lonely end to a lonely child. Not that her death could cost the witch anymore than what she'd already lost when the accursed meister had used her Anti Magic Wavelength to "save" her lover. The attack had purged all of Pendra's magic from Crona's system, sending her flying back to square one. Except now the gates to the city had been closed and the guard alerted.

It had been a risk to go after Crona so soon- she'd _known_ that. The experiment was to test the efficacy of her proteins on Black Blood activation using an expendable subject. That part had been successful and Soul "Eater" Evans had preformed beautifully. She should've stopped there, withdrawn and compiled her data, but she hadn't. Crona had been right there, so close, so powerful and malleable. Pendra had gotten excited, allowed herself to be distracted by fantasies of Crona killing the meister that had made her work so unnecessarily difficult. She had gambled and she had lost. Crona would not kill the meister- it wouldn't even hurt her. And so all her progress was gone. What did it matter if her magic could manipulate Crona if she could not get that magic inside him?

Furious, Pendra lashed out, striking the girl Vera with a magical blow to the inside of her skull. The girl let out a pathetic whimper, which only served to irritate the witch further. She wanted to hurt Vera, to torture her and twist her around, yet she restrained herself from any further outbursts. This particular pawn could not withstand much more of that and Pendra wasn't ready to let her go. She wasn't ready to give up. She **refused** to give up.

The realization came hand in hand with another idea. A final, desperate idea. The familiar she had inside Vera was special, designed to release a continuous stream of protein and maintain a low concentration. Perhaps the proteins she'd spent so long infusing into Crona were gone, but its tolerance to them was not. At a low dosage its body would not attack the invaders. Her presence could build inside it, waiting, laying dormant in its mind until a moment of weakness allowed her to break through. She didn't need much, just an instant of anger or a spark of fear, something she could magnify and contort until the Black Blood tore free of its control. Perhaps it would overcome the Madness again, yet the damage would've been done. The DWMA would need to respond to this most obvious threat and Crona's spirit would break. Then any one of the dozens of familiars she still had in the city would be able to subdue it, at least long enough to bring it to her. And she would be ready.

Pendra smiled, brushing her black curls from her cheek with a soft jingle from her brass bracelets. This would be tricky; Crona was most assuredly under guard and Vera, thanks to her encounter with Soul, could not be seen watching him. Vera would need to survive until the moment of vulnerability arose, then move quickly and decisively. Patience would once again be necessary, but if there was one thing Pendra still had, one drying resource from which she could still draw, it was patience. And perseverance. Those were a researcher's most treasured attributes and ultimately the qualities that had brought her so close to her goal. Just a little longer, just a little more, and then Crona _would_ come to her. He would _belong_ to her; all she had to do was wait.

* * *

"So Crona," Liz poked, speaking over the coffee shop noise.

Her voice was as gentle and soft as she could make it, so much so that she felt the need to lean forward to be heard. Nevertheless the swordsman flinched, curling in as if the contact had been physical rather than verbal and giving her a startled look. Patty giggled at his skittish reaction, mimicking it briefly. She meant it in good fun, even Crona understood that, but it still made him flush. The color in his cheeks perked up the rest of the table and what had been a relaxed conversation about nothing in particular quickly became another round of "When Will Crona Snap." That had not been her intention. Sighing heavily, Liz suppressed her annoyance and continued, inspecting her nails with feigned disinterest.

"Whatcha up to over there?"

"N-nothing," he answered defensively, trying hard to ignore the weight of everyone's stare.

"Crona thinks we're still in class," clarified Patty, getting bored and returning her attention to the complex folding pattern she was executing on a napkin. "He's just taking notes, silly."

"I believe what Liz was trying to ask," Kid tried, correcting his tie and twisting his rings until the details of his appearance were once again perfect. "Is what are you reading about now? It looks interesting."

"Yes that's exactly what I meant!"

He looked back at them shyly through his bangs, chewing on his tongue. Honestly the new arrangement was not particularly different from the old in that most of his time was spent with friends. It was not unpleasant… at first. But after only a few days the small deviations from the norm, the escorts to the bathroom and constant eyes and eternal chatter, they were beginning to grate. His frayed nerves made him secretive and his secrets got him into trouble. Not for the first time, he looked up and felt horribly exposed by the focusing lens through which the world viewed him. Reluctantly, he yielded to it.

"It's a book." He started with the obvious to put off their inevitable disapproval for as long as possible. "About centipedes…"

Silence. Tension. A rainbow of unblinking eyes ranging from concerned to critical. Except, mercifully, for Patty and Black Star. The former was obviously disinterested and the latter confused.

"Why would you want to read about a boring thing like that," he asked, folding his arms and putting his feet up on the table.

"Black Star," Tsubaki chastised through gritted teeth, signaling him to put his feet back on the ground with a tap.

"What?"

"It's not… boring," Crona said slowly, talking over their bickering. "But I'm not interested either. I just…"

"Hey, did you know," Maka interjected into the tension, gripping her iced coffee and trying to lighten the mood. "That the prehistoric centipede _Arthropleura_ was as big as a person?"

"You have got to be joking," Liz moaned, sharing a shudder with Tsubaki at the idea.

"Well that's disturbing," added Soul, throwing one arm over the back of the couch.

"Actually, _Arthropleura_ is a millipede ancestor," corrected Crona, marking a page in his book with a finger and closing it. "But you don't have to be scared, _Arthropleura_ was strictly herbivorous. Besides, there's not enough oxygen for giant insects arthropods to live now… not without magic…"

"What's the biggest centipede, then," asked Tsubaki quickly, though she really didn't want to know. She just wanted to distract the pink haired meister and pull him away from the subject of magic.

"Um, _Scolopendra gigantean_ , the Peruvian giant yellow-leg centipede, can grow to be 30 cm long. It's a carnivore that hunts small reptiles and mammals, even bats."

"Bats? What is this a jumping centipede," Liz joked awkwardly, wishing dearly that they could change the subject while simultaneously feeling proud of herself for getting the swordsman talking. He'd been so tense recently.

"It hangs upside down from the cave ceiling. Centipedes are smart for insects, and can live in rainforests, deserts, anywhere with a moist micro-habitat, even in the Arctic Circle. They're carnivores that use venom to debilitate their prey. The venom isn't in their bite though, it comes from adapted legs on the head called forcipules. First peptide neurotoxins briefly paralyze the prey, then large myotoxic and neurotoxic proteins cause necrosis. Centipedes don't predigest like spiders, and they don't swallow their prey whole like snakes, they consume it piece by piece … until there's nothing left…"

Crona's voice slowed, his brow knitting. His frown caused the entire table to follow suit, but he didn't notice. An idea was forming in his mind.

"Their venom is protein based… and magic is a biochemical process…"

"Are you alright Crona, you look pale," Kid asked gently, setting his black coffee on the table and leaning forward. The sword meister started, swinging wide blue eyes up to meet his golden stare.

"I'm fine," he insisted, knuckles white on the book in his lap. "I'm fine I just- I'm sorry- Maka, can we go home? I need my notebook but I didn't bring it."

Maka pursed her lips, considering. This was the first time all eight of them had gone out for coffee since getting back from Washington, the first chance they'd had to just hang out, and she was not eager to cut it short. Nor was she particularly excited to watch Crona disappear again into white pages only he could read. She didn't like the look on his face when he read Medusa's journals, vacant, or the fact that he still hadn't explained how reading without written words even worked. He was always so evasive with that subject. "I need my notebook" was code for "I need to read those journals" and Maka did not approve. But his eyes now were alive and electrified with something he wasn't going to share with her, something terribly important to him, something he needed to do.

Before he could've just gone back on his own to bask in some solitary research and there would've been no problems. Now… now Maka had to walk him back to the apartment and sit with him while he read. He wasn't allowed to do it without her. Crona looked at her, hopeful and pleading, and with a sigh she acquiesced.

"Of course," she said, nodding and forcing some pep into her voice. "Bye everyone! We'll see you all in class tomorrow!"

The group watched them leave with mixed expressions. This was hard for Crona, they all understood that in their own way. And it was hard for them too. If Crona was a prisoner then they, his friends, were the guards. It was their responsibility to keep him confined not just for his own sake, but to ensure the safety of the entire city. Maybe even the world, though that sounded dramatic.

Tsubaki hated the perversion of her role with an intensity she rarely showed to anyone. Unlike the others, she and Black Star had never fought Crona. They'd come close once, but Maka had stepped in and spared them that encounter. So to them Crona had only ever been a friend. She hadn't known him when he'd been Medusa's pawn, never met the Kishin Egg he'd once been. To her Crona was sweet and shy, intelligent and inquisitive, powerful but not dangerous- no, she couldn't say that anymore. When this had all began yes, the swordsman hadn't seemed particularly dangerous to her. Then there had been the Little One.

Wild, manic eyes. Laughter that was cold and hollow. A smile devoid of understanding or morality. Black Blood slithering through the grass. She understood better than most how people could twist and change, how a person you love could become a monster in a few quick steps. She knew how monsters had to be dealt with, what to do when confronted with one. She was acutely aware that, tragic as it might be, the origin of the monster could not be a factor. Innocent lives had to be preserved; that was their duty. Most of the time Tsubaki embraced this and felt very proud to be Black Star's partner. Yet in this case she wished she was someone else, one of those innocent, oblivious people. It made her sick to think that way, but she couldn't help it.

"What's got him so worked up," Black Star wondered aloud, lacing his fingers behind his head and putting his feet back up on the table.

"I'm sure he just needs some alone time," Tsubaki answered vaguely, showing her disapproval with another tap. "Crona's very quiet, so it must be difficult for him to always be around people."

"How is he doing Soul, truthfully," inquired Kid, reclaiming his mug and taking a sip. "Professor Stein says his blood work came back clean, meaning Maka's Anti Magic Wavelength purged the witch Pendra's magic from his blood. By all metrics he should be fine, but Black Star's right; he certainly seems agitated."

"It's a rough time for all of us," shrugged Soul. "Needing a babysitter is not cool at all and I think it's getting to him a little. But what're you gonna do? The witch is still out there. Maybe she's not in his head right now, maybe he is safe inside the city. That doesn't make anyone any more comfortable."

"Sounds like Crona's not the only one having a rough time with all this," Liz observed, flipping her golden hair over one shoulder.

"I gotta say, being a babysitter isn't particularly cool either," Soul said with a wry grin. "Maka's getting the brunt of it though. We need to catch this witch soon or she's gonna lose it."

"I'm afraid that's easier said than done," sighed Kid. "Both Maka and Spirit report that this particular witch can astral project, which means she could be anywhere at any time. We can't trace her either; so long as she's out of her body the magical signatures of both her body and astral self are too weak for us to detect."

"She just knows if she shows her face I'll smash it in!"

"The trick is she doesn't show her face. It's always one of those goddamn centipedes. There was that one that bit Crona in his room, the one on the Washington coast, hell I'd even bet there was one with that rabbit! You all remember the rabbit, right?"

"Vividly," shuddered Tsubaki. "Have any been spotted in the city?"

"None that we've been made aware of. The new wards should make it impossible for a witch's familiar to enter the city, regardless. I wouldn't expect them to be a problem."

"If there aren't any centipedes in the city, and none can get in, then what's the hang up," asked Liz. "Why does Crona have to be kept on a leash like this?"

"You don't know what it's like. Things aren't that simple. This witch… she gets inside your head…" Soul trailed off, staring out the window solemnly. "And once she's there there's nothing you can do. If Crona hadn't been there to stop me I could've killed Maka and if Maka hadn't been there to stop him…"

"We won't let that happen again," said Tsubaki firmly. "We won't."

Silence followed as her friends either agreed or chose to evaluate the worst-case scenario quietly. She couldn't blame them; despite the certainty in her voice her own fears ate at her heart. Tsubaki looked in the direction in which the couple had retreated, praying their vigil and brave declarations would be enough. Dread stained her hope like ink on a tablecloth and she wondered, reluctantly, what really could be done against something as insidious as a centipede. She'd already killed her brother, she didn't know if she had it in her to fight her friend.


	24. Chapter 24

"Do you think I can do it? Do you think it'll work?"

Crona was shaking with either excitement or terror, he wasn't really sure which. Honestly he didn't know what to feel anymore, least of all here. Lady Medusa's lab had poor lighting and rather sketchy looking equipment that she'd designed and assembled herself. Plastic tubing and glass capillaries danced in the candlelight, vials and flasks of blood glinting like liquid ruby and obsidian. Piles of books made shelves for terrifying measurement devices and at the center of it all stood a modest wooden chair. And behind that chair, resting one hand on the back, was Lady Medusa. Her golden eyes were alive, seething like serpents themselves. Her smile was cold and critical.

"To capture the soul in a drop of blood," she paraphrased, drumming her yellow nails on the wood. "And broadcast its wavelength over short distances. It's a bold project."

"But can I do it?"

"I cannot answer that; such experiments are not contained within these pages. What I can say is that it's not a trivial task."

"You said the soul is in the blood."

"I did and it is. However, the soul is also diffuse. Each drop of blood contains so little as to be negligible."

"What if I concentrated the wavelength?"

"And how do you propose to do that? Come Crona, I'm interested to hear your ideas."

"In Professor Stein's lab he uses high purity quartz crystals to absorb the wavelength of the magical proteins he finds in my blood. With time the signal "concentrates" enough to register on the equipment."

"Clever, but I need more detail."

"Well, um, the proteins are constantly emitting, so long as they haven't denatured. Those emissions become entrapped in the quartz matrix."

"Yes, but why not just expose the detector itself? Why do you need the quartz at all?"

"Um… I don't know. I don't-"

"Shh, it will be alright. Have faith in yourself Crona, you know the answers."

"Even with a long exposure time, the detector isn't sensitive enough to pick up the wavelength on its own. The crystalline structure amplifies the signal…"

"Excellent. Now, why quartz?"

"Because that's the stone used in magic for the amplification and storage of energies."

"Why, Crona."

He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. In some ways nothing had changed; he could not disobey her. And yet everything was different. She wasn't controlling him, she was teaching him, guiding and directing him. Maybe it was this mirage of Lady Medusa, the fact that it wasn't really her at all. Maybe it was his choice to obey now. Or maybe he was just desperate to escape, to exist in a world where he had some kind of control. Outside in the real world he was powerless, a prisoner in all but name, convicted of crimes he couldn't stop himself from committing. In here though, between these pages, being Lady Medusa's child wasn't a sin, but an advantage. The power in his blood was a source of curiosity not fear. And he could research a way to transfer this state of acceptance into the real world without judgment or constraint. Twisted as it was, he was starting to seek refuge in his mother's shadowy presence.

"Quartz is a tetrahedral structure of silicon and oxygen, so it's exceptionally stable," he answered, calmly. "It also has piezoelectric character, so mechanical stress can release the energy stored inside the crystal."

"What about diamonds? They're the hardest gem known and their carbonaceous composition grants them the ability to conduct magical energy."

"But they- they can't store it. I need to put the blood inside the crystal such that the soul wavelength builds up enough for me to resonate with."

"That is an excellent point. And yet you've brought up another flaw with your plan: how will you get the blood into the crystal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Blood oxidizes and clots when exposed to air, which erodes the soul wavelength. During ingestion this isn't an issue, because the energy is absorbed directly into the tissues, but for an application like the one you're describing you would either need to constantly replace the blood or maintain an inert atmosphere."

"Inclusions," Crona said after a moment of consideration. "Quartz can have gas pocket inclusions. If that gas were to be displaced with blood using teleportation, then there would never be any exposure to air. The blood should stay fresh indefinitely."

"Not indefinitely. Don't let your enthusiasm get the better of you, my child. It will need to be changed out periodically with fresh blood from the source."

"But it could work?"

"Yes, it could work. For what purpose, though, you still haven't told me."

"I…" Crona recoiled, fidgeting.

Lady Medusa smiled, coming out from behind the chair and approaching him. He shuddered when she brushed his cheek, instinct simultaneously screaming for him to get away and holding him in place. Then she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her, and he understood her command. And he couldn't- wouldn't, disobey.

"I want to suppress the Madness using Maka's Anti-Magic Wavelength. If I'm constantly exposed to her wavelength, if I have it with me at all times, then any magical proteins in my blood will be purged. No one will be able to control me."

Darkness flashed in her eyes and her grip on his face tightened momentarily.

"You would do that," she asked coolly. "Suppress what you are? Give up magic?"

"I don't want to be a tool. I don't want to serve anyone anymore."

For a long moment she considered, her temper simmering as her reptilian stare burrowed into his soul. Crona held his ground, staring back with wide, ice blue eyes. Finally, she released him, turning away and moving back to her chair.

"I suppose I must agree with your motives," she said, irritated. "Being unable to stomach the thought of another witch using my child myself. Besides, you were created with a purpose that no amount of engineering will circumvent. You must understand that."

His throat seized up as a dull buzz started in his mind. Those words- her voice- he had to say it. The response that was burnt into him. But he didn't want to. And yet it clawed its way out, a sickening reminder that he remained her creation. There was no escaping his origins. That was her point.

"I understand," he breathed, trembling, causing her to smile cruelly.

"That's right Crona. You're doing very well. Now, there's someone demanding your attention. We will discuss this further when you return."

* * *

"Crona, can you hear me?"

Maka moved behind the couch and placed a hand gently on the pink haired meister's shoulder. He flinched violently, tearing wide, ice blue eyes away from the white pages of his mother's journal to look at her. Surprise quickly faded into recognition, still, it stung. She did not like sharing him with this obsession, didn't enjoy seeing him so engrossed in the work of the one who'd crushed him until he was barely a person any more. Crona had explained it to her several times, detailed how his mother's research was helping him understand what Pendra was trying to do and how he could keep himself safe. And Maka knew it was important work, that now more than ever he needed to feel empowered. Yet her hatred for Medusa shone through regardless. It was a growing point of contention.

"Yes," he answered, growing inquisitive. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you."

"You were just focused," she brushed him off, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "I just wanted to remind you about the DWMA arts festival today. It's starting here in the next half hour and we were going to go early to avoid the crowds, remember?"

"Oh…" Crona's expression deflated and he glanced longingly back at the journal in his lap.

Clearly he hadn't remembered and was not keen to go at all. Maka felt her temper flare. They'd agreed to go to this thing weeks ago, that it would be fun. It was supposed to be a date and she'd really been looking forward to it. She wanted to go try on hand made jewelry, asking Crona what looked pretty on her, and share street food with zero concern for the rules of society. She wanted to take Crona to the dress stands and see if anything caught his eye. She wanted to get someone to draw their portrait and hang it up on the wall. Now especially, she wanted things to feel normal between them. His expression made it acutely apparent that Crona did not think this outing would serve that purpose. He'd agreed to go with her a few weeks ago, but had changed his mind.

"You know what," Maka said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Forget it."

"Maka," Crona called after her as she moved back towards the kitchen and started passive aggressively putting away dishes. They clattered loudly, causing the swordsman to flinch.

"It's fine," she sniped back, not looking at him. "We don't _have_ to go if you don't want to."

"I didn't say I don't want to…"

He trailed off, flushing. The truth was he didn't want to go; he wanted to stay where he was and keep working or studying or doing anything other than being in public. Feeling something aside from eyes, hearing things besides whispers. But he'd told Maka he would go with her. She didn't like being cooped up and wanted to do couple things. Her response told him just how excited she'd been, and the phrase "It's fine" told him just how not fine it was that he didn't share her enthusiasm.

"You don't have to say it," she seethed, replacing a pan on the rack. "You've been buried in those books since we got back from Washington. I don't know why I thought you'd want to do something different."

"Please don't be angry. I'll go with you."

He said it gently, appeasingly, and that just made her more irritated. Her mood had been slowly souring like milk left out, growing tenser and tenser with each passing day. Hatred for the witch Pendra churned with frustration and guilt inside her and, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, the concoction vented. When that happened Crona, Soul, anyone who happened to be around her really, got burnt.

"Crona I am not your overlord!"

Silence. Long, thick, smoking silence.

"I know that," mumbled Crona in a small voice. "And… I know you can't leave me alone. I know it's hard for you…"

"It's fine," she brushed him off again, tossing a pigtail out of her way.

"No. It's not fine. I'm sorry. I wish I could deal with this on my own."

Maka busied herself putting away a handful of spoons, but hesitated when he said that. Gingerly, she set them on the countertop and lowered her head, giving the surface a defeated look.

"It's not your fault," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Crona stood, closing his mother's journal and placing it on the coffee table. Decisively he moved around the furniture to Maka and embraced her from behind, catching her by surprise. His arms encircled her waist, his fingers curling in her white shirt as he held her tightly.

"You were the first one to see me, to treat me like a person. You keep me safe. Don't tell me you're sorry, not ever."

"But I am. I shouldn't-"

"Shhh," he soothed, nuzzling into her neck the way she always did to him when he was upset. "I don't want to fight anymore. I don't know how to deal with it. Let's just go together to the arts festival."

"You don't want to go Crona. I can tell and I'm not going to make you do it."

"You're not making me. I want to stay with you, Maka. If you go then I want to go too. So let's not fight anymore, let's go together because that's what we want to do, okay?"

Maka smiled softly, warm but with a tinge of sadness. Her hands settled on top of his and she leaned into him, letting her head lull back. Slowly, her eyes closed and she relaxed into his warmth. He did not want to go outside and into the crowds; it made him uncomfortable. But he was willing to do it anyway just for her. He wanted to face his fear for her and that made Maka feel… special.

"Okay," she whispered, savoring his breath on her neck. "Okay."

* * *

It was everything he'd dreaded. Loud. Crowded. Claustrophobic. The mildest way he could describe his condition was agitated, but in truth he was on the verge of panic. So many bodies, so many voices. Crona was having a difficult time breathing or controlling his sweat-streaked expression. Maka, on the other hand, seemed the most relaxed she'd been in a while. She was smiling and laughing, trying on earrings with Liz and placing various hats on his head. Through the fear he felt happy about that, at least.

"Maka," he probed, brushing her elbow with the tips of his fingers and pulling her attention away from a display of hand crafted paperweights.

"Is everything alright," she asked, noticing his pale skin and wide eyes. "Do you need to leave?"

"Oh no! I- I- I-" he stuttered, noting the disappointment in her voice. She frowned, clearly not fooled, and he swallowed hard, centering himself. "I just… I need a little space… for a moment."

"I'll come with you-"

"No! No, you're having fun. I'll be alright, I'm only going over there, and only for a little."

Maka peered in the direction he indicated, giving the alley a critical once over. It was narrow, not one of the major arteries off the central plaza, and dark. What probably appealed to Crona was how thin the crowd was over there; only a few people clustered a ways away from the entrance and the space itself was completely empty. She could imagine how much quieter it was too. He needed the space, that much was obvious. Yet something told her not to let him go… Her gaze flicked back to his near trembling form.

"You'll stay where I can see you?"

He nodded vigorously, forcing a little smile. Licking her lips, Maka made a face she hoped was reassuring, brushing some pink hair from his eyes and jerking her head in the direction of the alley. Crona turned his head slightly so he could kiss her fingertips, then moved off, stumbling a little through the crowd. His heart was hammering, his stomach churning, and he felt light headed, but all of that lessened as soon as he hit the shadows. He leaned his forehead against the cool brick and breathed slowly.

The first hour had been unexpectedly fun; he'd really enjoyed the time with Maka and their friends. The way her hair caught the sunlight and her eyes sparkled when she saw something she liked. She looked beautiful with an emerald encrusted barrette with stones the exact shade of her irises. He was going to buy it for her as soon as they moved onto the next stall, but then the second hour had begun to compress him. That was alright, he'd just take his minute and then go buy it. It was a normal day filled with normal problems. What a relief it was to dodge a normal panic attack.

"Feel better?"

He started violently, spinning towards the source of the voice. It was a girl about his age, with coal black hair and hard, amber eyes. She had large breasts and wide hips, but an exceptionally small waist, with long legs made even longer by platform sandals. Naturally she was probably Kid's height, but with the shoes she was easily as tall as Crona. Her skin was sickly pale and shone with sweat, but she didn't teeter, or even wobble a little. Like a predator.

"Your breathing," she clarified. "It looked like you were having a hard time, but now things seem better, don't they."

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, blinking. "Have we- have we met?"

"Not in person. I'm Vera."

Her voice was cryptic, evasive. Something about her was horribly familiar, and something else felt alien. Crona's instinct told him to run, to get back to Maka, but fear kept him still. He didn't want to go back into the squirming mass of bodies, into the noise. Yet he didn't really want to stay with this girl either.

"I'm Crona," he tried, feeling his chest tighten back up as she took a step closer.

"I know. Everyone here knows who you are. We all saw you flying with those wings of blood, leading the witches into our city."

"I-"

"Quiet!"

Her voice sharpened and burnt. Instantly it was devoid of all civility, like she was addressing a misbehaving animal rather than a person. Crona winced.

"Nothing you say matters to me. Don't you get that? Don't you realize who I am?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know you…"

He tensed as she took another step towards him, but didn't retreat. Desperately, he looked over one shoulder, back towards Maka. She was distracted, looking at a series of wooden sculptures. Vera advanced, getting closer without making any sort of aggressive move. She looked at him with an ice-cold disdain and suddenly he realized what she meant.

"I'm one of your victims. You killed… my entire family."

"No… No I- I didn't kill anyone that day."

"That day? Do you even realize how you sound? You monster."

"Don't call me that," he whispered, staring at her with innocent storm cloud eyes. "I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't know then what I know now. I didn't understand and I'm sorry. Just… don't call me that."

"What? Monster," Vera snorted, frigid and metallic. "Why not? Because you're reformed? Give me a break, there's no such thing, not for something like you."

"Don't come any closer!"

She paused just a few feet away from him, anger smoldering in her eyes. Anger and… hatred. He'd never had anyone look at him like that before, so entirely without fear or affection, and it froze him. That night, flying through the sky with an army of Mizunes, the city on fire beneath him. Medusa had taken him into the Academy, down into the depths, where the Kishin's Madness seethed. He'd been reborn there, but for the first time it truly dawned on him that not everything could rise back out of the ashes.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

"You think that matters? If you do then you're stupid as well as evil. That's fine though, you don't need to be smart to be useful. And I know what's planned for you."

"What are you talking about?"

His voice trembled as a fresh kind of terror seeped into his mind. He was safe in the city- he was supposed to be safe in the city. Now he needed to run, to get back to Maka, but he couldn't move. No matter what he thought his legs refused to so much as take a step back as Vera advanced.

"I'll show you."

"No! Get away!"

Crona's body lurched into action and he made a move to shove her. She deflected his wrists with one hand and pressed the other to the side of his face. With one powerful thrust she cracked his skull against the brick, holding it still as she brought her mouth close. Her lips pulled away from her teeth and her jaw stretched wide. A centipede tore free from her throat and dove into Crona's ear. Blood sprayed. He screamed. Maka's head jerked up.

"Crona," she yelled, bolting for the alleyway.

She found them both collapsed. Vera was unconscious on the ground, black hair fanned across her face and blood dripping from her lips. Crona was curled up next to her with his back pressed against the brick wall, his trembling hands tucked into his chest and ice blue gaze blank and forward. The side of his face was spattered with glistening red, as if the girl had coughed directly into his ear. Kneeling beside him, Maka grabbed his shoulders and gave him a hard shake.

"Crona, Crona are you alright?!"

"Sh-she-she said she wanted to tell me something," he whispered, not looking at her. "She said she'd show me…"

"Who is she? What did she do to you?"

"That's her! That's the girl Vera who gave me the note," Soul panted, coming up with Liz, Patty, Kid, and Black Star.

Tsubaki followed close behind, kneeling down next to the girl and checking her.

"That doesn't matter right now, she's hurt. We need to get her to the infirmary."

"Crona," Maka repeated with renewed urgency. "Are you alright? Did she hurt you? Crona answer me."

He turned to look at her with a vacant expression and, for a moment, she thought she saw something dark flicker in his wide eyes. Then it passed and it was just Crona. Slowly, he shook his head, still trembling.

"No… no she didn't hurt me. She was going to tell me something, but then she just… coughed up blood… But she didn't hurt me at all. I'm fine."

* * *

"Interesting," muttered Stein, peering into Crona's ear with his otoscope and frowning.

"What is," snapped Maka, unable to restrain herself any longer.

Barely fifteen minutes had passed since the incident, but even that felt much too long. This was an emergency, and yet events seemed to be passing with such a horrible lethargy it made her sick. Black Star had gone ahead with an unconscious Vera, and promptly dumped her Naigus's care. He'd then taken the liberty of fetching Dr. Stein from the school's science labs and they'd both been waiting for the group when they'd arrived maybe ten minutes later. The delay was primarily due to Crona and his unwillingness to budge so much as an inch; Maka had all but carried him to the infirmary and maintained a death grip around his hand. This didn't seem to faze the swordsman. Nothing did. His wide, ice blue gaze remained forward and unblinking, his movements reluctant and forced. Even now he sat perfectly still, allowing the professor to examine him without comment. Vera's blood still colored his face.

"It would seem Crona is uninjured…" the professor trailed off, sounding unconvinced.

"You're saying that like it's a bad thing," muttered Soul critically, folding his arms.

"I think unexpected is a better descriptor," offered Kid, rotating the cufflinks on one sleeve until they matched those on the other.

"Of course he's not hurt! I was there to make sure of it," spouted Black Star, entirely convinced of his own usefulness. Maka opened her mouth to release a scathing comment to the contrary, but Dr. Stein beat her to it.

"It's doubtful your involvement made any difference. The girl Vera was clearly sent by Pendra to fulfill some objective. Whether or not she succeeded before she collapsed remains unknown."

"But… you said Crona isn't hurt," Tsubaki probed, her concern for her friend out weighing her hurt feelings. "Doesn't that indicate she failed?"

"Why was he alone?" Stein ignored her and continued to stare into Crona's ear, as if something would appear in there eventually.

An acutely uncomfortable silence ensued in which they all fidgeted, squirming. Maka flushed scarlet and, noticing her discomfort, Soul came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Bravely, he answered.

"He said he needed space, and we thought-"

"You thought wrong."

"What's the big deal," asked Black Star, frustrated by the lack of praise. "He's fine, isn't he?"

"We don't know that," said Stein in a dark, even voice. He lowered the otoscope, but did not move his gaze. "I'll need to draw some blood."

"No!"

The entire room started as Crona came alive, pulling away from Maka and Stein both and scooting backwards across the infirmary bed. He slid off and retreated into the nearest corner, curling up with his back pressed into the wall.

"No. You can't. I don't want you to."

"Crona," Stein admonished. "Something happened with-"

"Nothing happened! She talked to me and coughed on me and that's all!"

"Please Crona, look at it from our perspective," tried Kid, recovering quickly and moving to the swordsman's side. "If you were being influenced by the witch you'd say the same thing."

"But I'm not being influenced!"

"Do you remember the rabbit," he continued, calmly, as if speaking to a scared child. "There was a centipede inside it. It was in the rabbit's ear. Do you understand what I'm telling you? Do you understand why we need to test your blood?"

"Please," Crona whimpered, pretending not to hear. "Please, I don't want to. I want to go home."

"And we will take you home. Once we have a sample of your blood. And we've- I can't do this, it's making me sick… Will someone get me a damp cloth!"

For a moment everyone just sort of stared at him in bewilderment, trying to follow the reaper's priorities. His outburst broke the tension, which was good, and yet still it felt inappropriate somehow. They weren't sure what to do. Then, sighing heavily and recovering herself, Liz accepted the task. The room watched her pull out a handkerchief, wet it at the sink across the room, and hand it to her meister, muttering all the while about how he could be so insensitive sometimes and it really wasn't a problem they should be worried about right now.

"Thank you," he said, accepting the handkerchief with one hand and grabbing Crona's chin with the other. "Now hold still, this will only take a moment."

Surprisingly, Crona complied, allowing his head to be turned this way and that as Kid wiped Vera's blood from his face. The reaper was a over zealous with his scrubbing, leaving the skin pink and a little raw, but the ritual seemed to calm the pink haired meister. His breath slowed and his eyes relaxed as he allowed himself to be cleaned. Several minutes passed before anyone felt prepared to interrupt, and then several more before anyone actually did.

"Crona," said Tsubaki softly. "Why don't you want Professor Stein to draw any blood? Is there anything we can do to help?"

Wide blue eyes slid to her, though he didn't remove his head from Kid's grip.

"I'm tired," he answered simply. "I want to go home. I'm so tired of all this."

"We know," Maka breathed, chewing her lower lip and giving him a defeated look. "We know and we're sorry. But Dr. Stein needs to test your blood to make sure you're alright. Just let him draw some, then we can go home and have pasta."

"Why don't you believe me…"

"Oh for the love of god just get over yourself would ya!"

Ragnarok popped out from between Crona's shoulder blades with a gross, squelching sound. One hand took a fistful of his pink hair and gave it a sharp, reproachful tug. The other went right into Kid's face and shoved him away unceremoniously. Fortunately, having finished cleaning Crona down to the last speck of blood, he suffered the indignity with nothing more than an exasperated sigh.

"I am so bored with all this bull shit! You wanna go home so bad, then suck it up! Just give them the damn blood and get it over with! The dumb cow said there'd be pasta!"

"Ragnarok," Crona exclaimed, taken aback by his sudden appearance. Ever since Washington he'd been elusive, only really coming out to eat and, occasionally, to keep Crona awake at night as punishment for breaking his promise. The more he used magic, whether it was diving into his mother's journals or summoning the vines, the scarcer Ragnarok seemed to become. Now, though, it seemed he'd returned with a vengeance.

"Oh boo fucking hoo! I'm the weakling Crona and I'm so pathetic I couldn't even fend off a hot babe on fucking stilts and now I'm sad because she said mean things and sprayed blood all over me! Give me a break. And you all are just as bad! Standing around fawning over this blubbering idiot, what a joke!"

"How eloquent," said Stein, unimpressed. "Perhaps _you_ would like to give up some blood. I just need a sample; it doesn't particularly matter who the donor is."

"Whatcha got on ya," leered the demon sword, settling in Crona's hair possessively.

"Nothing at the moment."

"Then I guess you're shit outta luck."

"Thirty pieces of candy," Maka yelled suddenly, pulling away from Soul and storming over to the weapon. She bent at the waist and looked him right in the eyes, fuming. "You give Professor Stein a blood sample and I will give you thirty pieces of candy."

"Maka…" Crona breathed, giving her a betrayed look. But she didn't hear or notice; her attention was entirely focused on Ragnarok.

"Make it fifty," he shot back, licking his teeth.

"Thirty five."

"How badly do you want that blood?"

"Fine! Fifty! Now can we please just get on with it!"

"You're sharper than I thought. Alright, give me the needle. I'll do it myself."


	25. Chapter 25

The moss was soft under his feet, but the smooth stones weren't. They made the earth lumpy, clattered and crunched against each other as he moved. Even though the moss was soft and grew everywhere, the world itself was hard. Cold. He could see his breath suspended before him in a cloud, smell the salt of the ocean in the still air. This was a rainforest, the only rainforest in North America. Here moss didn't just grow to the North. Here the green seemed to glow in the grey. Here reality warped into a disjointed whirl of memory and nightmare. How, he wondered, had he returned?

Sounds came as if through water, muffled and distant despite the proximity of their source. Voices screaming. Weapons clashing. If he turned he'd see it happening again. He'd see Soul with his wild eyes, a ring of white glinting in his irises and his scar split open and spewing Madness. Another version of himself was there too, wielding Ragnarok delicately. Trying not to hurt his friend. In a moment he'd do it anyway. He always did. Then Maka would return with her father and he'd hurt her too. Thorns clenched in his gut, twisting and puncturing and seething. Begging to be released. They'd get their wish…

This was the part where _she_ came. Not Lady Medusa, another _she_ , a new _she_. Despite that her fingers felt familiar in his mind now, natural even. They filled a vacuum he hadn't realized was aching, served some necessary function. What, exactly, that was he didn't know, but her whispers assured him that it _was_ necessary. It was the way he was designed to be.

So why was he shaking? What was this paralytic terror inside him? If she was right (and she had to be right), then why was he so afraid?

He tensed under her touch, going rigid at the sensation of her fingers between his shoulder blades. Brass bands jingled, crisp and close. Her flesh was cold, burning cold, and hard. Slowly, sensually, she caressed him, trailing her nails down his spine and relishing his shudder. Before he'd fought, tried to run, to get away from her. He'd tried to stop himself from hurting Soul and protect Maka from the vines of blood protruding from his body. He really had tried to be a person. It never worked; red stained Soul's white hair and Maka's stunned, emerald eyes met his as her face paled. Time passed and with every tic of the second hand this inevitability became more certain. Now… he took comfort in knowing it would be over soon.

A small gasp hissed over his lips as she traced the arch of his hip and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing her away. She didn't go away. She came around to his side and leaned in. Her breath was hot on the side of his face, her grip tight on his shoulders. He whimpered when she took his earlobe between her lips, sucking on it, raking her teeth over it. Then she shoved her tongue into his ear and his vision went white. His eyes opened wide, yet he saw nothing. Numbness spread through his mind and down into his body, following his nerves. Her tongue was wet and warm and strong, burrowing into him, dissolving him. Slowly, he stopped trembling and relaxed into her, letting himself become blissfully empty. Letting slime with a red sheen overtake the whiteness and hands made of gel grasp greedily at his robe.

"Crona," Pendra cooed, pulling away just a little. "Tell me what you fear. Be specific."

"I'm afraid I'm not a person," he answered without hesitation. "I'm afraid I'm a monster."

"You're afraid of the truth. You were created to destroy, there's nothing else for you. This life you're clinging to, these people you call your friends, it's all an illusion. Break it. Show me what you were designed to do."

Crona's body turned towards the battle, his legs carrying him with an intensity and purpose he might've found frightening if he hadn't been so… empty. Obedience had overtaken his mind and in his core he understood this was how he was meant to be. Compliant. Weapon and meister together in one form. The perfect tool for a witch to spread chaos and destruction. He came up behind himself, stretching out a hand so that his long fingertips brushed his own back. And he melted into a whirl of Black Blood that quickly hardened into thick, thorny vines. His Madness given form at last. They flicked and coiled like snakes, leaving scars in the earth and in his soul. Every move they made tore him apart, yet he didn't hold back.

One vine lurched forward and coiled around Soul. The scythe struggled, but his blade couldn't cut through the crystalline stem and his strength couldn't overcome the power of the Black Blood. Thorns dug into his flesh, bringing forth beads of ruby and sharp, heart-wrenching screams. That didn't matter. Only destruction mattered. Another vine, thinner than the first, curled around his throat and squeezed until silence returned. Squeezed until the beads of ruby became rivers and the rivers became mist flickering around a glowing blue orb.

Another sound broke the stillness as Maka burst forth from the trees, holding her father in his weapon form. Her face was all screwed up in pain, even though he hadn't hurt her yet, and she was saying something Crona could neither hear nor understand. It didn't matter. Nothing but obedience mattered. Black Blood curled around her ankle and pulled her feet from under her with a decisive tug. She landed hard, gasping for breath, but had little time to recover before the vine tugged again. It dragged her across the ground, lifted her into the air, and slammed her against one tree. Then against another. Red sprayed from her lips, her eyes wide and clouded by pain. Was it the pain from her body? Or something else entirely? She looked at Crona and he felt nothing.

No- that wasn't true, he did feel something. Hunger. And when he heard her spine snap against another thick cedar and watched her disintegrate into a second blue sphere, he felt… satisfaction. Satiated. The killing, the destruction, these things made him feel… good. He wanted more. He wanted to keep going, to eradicate, to dissolve the world. He yearned for it, was starved for it. And now that he'd finally accepted that, there was nothing that could stop him.

In the recesses of his mind he could hear Pendra's gleeful laughter.

* * *

Crona's screams were so loud and piercing the apartment shook. He sat bolt upright in bed, shouting hysterically and trying desperately to free himself from the sheets. But he was so entangled and the cotton was sticking to his sweaty skin. It was a fruitless endeavor which only served to heighten his panic. Which only served to heighten something else. The drawers in the dresser and desk rattled, the lampshade spun like a ballerina, and a pencil that had been sitting on the desktop launched across the room and embedded itself in the door.

Maka, who was taking Crona's flailing limbs raining down on her like a champ, finally managed to sit up. She grabbed Crona by the wrists and pulled his arms in close to his body, curled against his chest. Her stare was hard and practiced at this point, tunneling into his soul without an ounce of surprise or grogginess. After all, this had been a nightly occurrence for the past few days. Ever since Vera had cornered him in the alleyway.

"Crona! Crona, listen to me! You're alright! You're safe!"

She had to shout herself to be heard and squeezed his wrists tightly in an attempt to catch his attention. Soul appeared at the door and, noting the protruding pencil, gave her a warning look. Maka ignored it, focusing all her willpower on calming the pink haired meister. His soul was on fire with fear, his wide eyes still blinded. Yet as she pressed into him, continuing to yell both mentally and physically, he began to notice her. Then suddenly he stopped squirming and, blinking, came into the present.

"Maka," he asked softly, recognizing her. "Maka… I-"

His voice caught as tears boiled in his eyes. Wordlessly, she released his wrists and instead wrapped her arms around his back, holding him in a soft embrace. Sobs replaced screams in the otherwise quiet night, low, moaning noises punctuated with gasps. She stroked his hair, shushing him like a child and hiding her own tears behind a stoic poker face. Soul, however, could see right through her. His features hardened in frustration, but he didn't comment.

"Should I go get some water," he offered in a low voice.

"No." Maka shook her head a little and gave him a well-intended but poorly executed grin. "No, we're okay. You should go back to sleep. We'll be fine."

The scythe nodded and closed the door with pursed lips, knowing perfectly well that neither one of them was "fine."

* * *

"There is no doubt that the girl Vera was being used by the witch Pendra and has now been discarded."

"You sound very sure Professor," probed Kid, folding his arms.

"I'll explain everything in the meeting this afternoon."

"I want you to tell me now. It is my intention to visit Crona later today and see how he's doing. I'd like to offer any information I can that might put him at ease. Soul says he's been having horrible nightmares."

"I see…" Stein trailed off, contemplating the chalkboard.

Kid had cornered him as he was setting up for that morning's dissection and time was running short. It wasn't that he intended to keep anything from Death's son; rather, he wasn't sure how much information to share with Crona. What parts would help sooth him and what would only serve to agitate him further. Under normal circumstances he would simply have invited Crona over for dinner and spoken with him directly, but these weren't normal circumstances at all. Crona couldn't leave the city and even within these walls had to be at Maka's side at all times. Only her Anti-Magic Wavelength could keep him contained and only if she caught any descent into Madness early. The situation, and the emotion surrounding it, was complex.

"Professor, Crona has a right to know what's happening," Kid added after a long moment.

"I'm not disputing that. Alright, but you'll need to distribute these while we talk. There isn't much time."

"I understand. Now, what makes you so certain?"

"Crona's blood frequently contained three sets of magical proteins: latent proteins from Medusa, his own magical proteins, and some that were unrelated. Medusa's and Crona's proteins produced peaks that were difficult to resolve, but this third set was distinct and I am operating under the hypothesis that it belonged to Pendra. That same peak appeared in Vera's blood work, which strengthens my hypothesis."

"So Vera is minimally being influenced by Pendra's magic."

" _Was_. The magical proteins are being cleared. Which is good because magical proteins are toxic to non-witches. Being hydrophobic in nature, they evoke a severe immune response. Vera is very lucky the witch tired of her when she did."

"Will she recover?"

"I believe so. She hasn't regained consciousness yet. Naigus has her on a course of corticosteroids to treat the allergic reaction and fluids for her overall lack of health. With luck she'll be up soon."

"I see… Professor Stein, can you tell me-"

"Will she be dangerous when she wakes up? Truthfully I don't know, but I doubt it. The magical proteins are clearing, which means whatever influence the witch Pendra had over her has come to an end. Even if she is hostile, she's just a human girl and shouldn't pose much of a threat."

"Something still doesn't sit right with me. If Vera is harmless, as you suggest, and her system is purging the magical proteins, then it would seem Pendra has abandoned her. Yet if it is also true that she did nothing to Crona in that alleyway, like he claims, then why would the witch relinquish her only asset in the city?"

"It's not just a matter of Crona's word; I found no evidence of magical proteins in his blood work. Vera is very sick, it's possible the witch abandoned ship because she had reached the end of her usefulness."

"Then why not just kill her? And why send her to Crona at all?"

"Perhaps she was assigned a task and failed to complete it, perhaps not. Perhaps Pendra had already abandoned her and she sought out Crona on her own. If this is the Vera Aven from our records, then her family was killed the night Crona surrendered to the DWMA. She would have reason to blame Crona for her misfortune. We won't know for sure until she wakes up."

"And how soon will that be?"

"Judging from her current condition, I would say soon. But I can't give you a precise estimate."

"We need her awake and talking. At this point she's our only source of information, our only lead."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. She's just a girl, a girl who's been under magical influence for an undetermined amount of time. It's equally possible that she won't remember a thing about Pendra."

"I don't accept that. She'll be able to tell us _something_. She has to."

* * *

If he had any say in the matter, Crona wouldn't have left his room for anything. Ever. It was his sanctuary, the only place he had to be alone, and little by little it was becoming his world. Here his secrets continued to build up and the things he wanted to keep private were taking up physical residences in the nooks and crannies. Here the shaded light from the lamp cast welcome shadows against the walls as he scribbled rushed notes into a small, black journal while Maka was away. Here he was still… a person. Not a prisoner, not a threat, but, like his mother before him, a scientist.

Her whispers took form in his mind and merged with the knowledge he was gaining elsewhere. Distilled into plans he was too afraid to show anyone, because they were still contaminated by truths he wanted to keep hidden. Maka had coaxed him into the light, gotten him to bring his mother's journals out of this room and share them, but as far as she or anyone else knew they merely contained words. The phantom with whom he spent so much time, the conversations they had, had to remain secret. Because if they found out he was literally speaking to his mother, studying under her, they'd take her away. Again. And he couldn't allow that.

When he'd perfected his solution he'd show it to them, the censored version, and say it was all from nothing but reading. He'd leave out the visits to a lab long since destroyed and the magic seething in his veins. Conveniently, he'd neglect to mention the teleportation that would be necessary or how it was executed. Crona would just one day become safe and they would all be so relieved, they wouldn't ask questions. Because once he had his solution, once he'd built it, witches like Pendra would no longer be an issue. The Madness in his blood would be quieted. Control over his body and mind would be his and his alone.

All he had to do was build it. All he had to do was master his magic so he _could_ build it. Here, in this sanctuary, in the real world.

The floorboards creaked and he set the pen down and closed his little journal. Listening. When nothing happened he let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and gave the black leather a dejected look. It all sounded so simple in his head. So doable. It had to be that way to nurture the tiny flame of hope inside him, to protect it from the fear. Nevertheless, the reality of the situation was daunting. Minimally he needed to be able to teleport inanimate objects, an ability which continued to elude him. It didn't help that he could only study in a lab that existed in his mind. If he could just practice spells in the open, then things would've been so much easier. As it was, he had to skip straight to mental magic, which was significantly more advanced.

Experimentally, Crona picked up the pen again, laying it flat in his palm. Telekinesis came easily and within a moment the pen was twirling as he stared. Weaving through the air, first like a fish in water, then like a baton in a dance. At first it had been difficult to initiate, then to control. His anxieties sent objects flying, every moment of distraction let them crash back onto the desktop. Now it was second nature, even when he was unconscious. His nightmares unleashed the magic he was working so hard to tame, allowing it to roam wild during those moments between consciousness and dreams. He wouldn't be able to lie about it much longer. He needed his solution… now.

"Cut that shit out!"

Ragnarok burst from Crona's back and delivered a hard whack to his skull, causing the sword meister to falter and the pen to clatter out of suspension.

"Ragnarok, be quiet," Crona hissed instinctively, rubbing his head and checking the door.

"Oh so you want me to be quiet? Then maybe you should stop pissing me off! You know that makes me feel sick!"

"I know and I'm sorry. But I have to practice or-"

"Practice whatever bull shit you're learning from your mom's notes, are you serious? You're a special kind of fucked up, you know that?"

"Yes…" Crona trailed off, his gaze drifting down to his own journal. Cautiously, he picked it up and tucked it into a pile of schoolbooks, hiding it in plain site. "I know."

"I don't get this obsession. If this Pendra chick bothers you so much then why not just go kill her. That used to be our solution to everything and it worked pretty damn well."

"That's not how we operate anymore. That's not how _a person_ would react."

"Again with this personhood crap!"

"Ragnarok, be quiet! Besides, you should be worried about Pendra too. If she gets what she wants it'll be bad for both of us."

"And this is a reason not to kill her… how?"

"It's not just her we have to worry about, it's everyone. You don't know what's in Lady Medusa's journals, you haven't seen what I have…"

"I don't care what's in there and I don't care that you spend hours in a stupor staring at it. It doesn't affect me. You're more fun when the Madness takes over anyway. But if you keep dicking around with magic we're going to have problems. I don't like being shut down like that and I'm not going to just put up with it. Understand?!"

"Yes Ragnarok," Crona sighed, grabbing the pen and returning it to the desk drawer. He even managed to keep his hand steady, though terror was steaming inside him. "I understand."


	26. Chapter 26

Pain came to her before consciousness, dull and aching in her throat and muscles. By now she was used to that, but there was something about this pain that gave her pause. It wasn't… different, yet her perceptions of it were. The pain seemed more focused, more real than before. When she was Pendra's thrall everything had come to her through a haze of magic, echoes instead of sounds and phantoms instead of people. Everything seemed a surreal nightmare from which she could only escape in sleep. Everything except for the witch. Her presence was always sharp, her will like broken glass in Vera's mind. So where was the glass now? What had happened to the sharp edges that had torn into her and the fogged panes between herself and the world? Why did she care all of a sudden?

Next in line, interestingly enough, was an awareness of her hands. She became acutely aware that she had hands, that they were sluggish and dry. Her fingers curled in response to her will, slowly yet decisively, obeying signals that came from her mind. It was her idea to curl them, then to straighten them, flexing experimentally. There was something bulky applying pressure to her left pointer finger, clamped around the tip, and each knuckle felt stiff. Other than that her hands seemed to be functioning. Vera moved her focus up her arms, to something stuck into the crook of her left elbow, then down her ribs to her legs. Feeling her body as if for the first time, experiencing what it was to have a body.

It was only then that true consciousness hit her, flinging her eyes wide open like windows in a storm. Panic coursed through her blood and crushed her chest. Adrenaline coursed into her weak muscles. Pendra had left her mind, but that didn't make her free. And without freedom she wasn't safe. Padded restraints around her wrists and ankles held her in place as she tried to get up, intensifying the fear. Her amber eyes swept this way and that, taking in every unfamiliar detail with terrifying efficiency. She was in some kind of infirmary, that much was instantly apparent. Beyond that nothing was clear. Where was she and how had she gotten there? Why was she suddenly her own person again? What had she done? Why wasn't she dead?

"Good," drawled a voice from behind a white curtain. "You're awake."

A large, pale hand pushed the fabric aside decisively, revealing a tall man with round glasses and narrow, olive eyes. His flesh was marred with stitch-like scars and his face was unreadably neutral. Vera thrashed.

"Let me go," she demanded in a voice that was much calmer than she felt. "Let me go!"

"I can't do that just yet," answered the man, shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to appear less threatening. "Don't misunderstand; you're not a prisoner."

"Then why am I tied to a bed?!"

"Because you've been through a traumatic ordeal and we were concerned you might wake up and hurt yourself, rather like you're trying to do right now. Now please stop squirming, you're going to tear out your IV."

"I want to leave," she said flatly, though she did decide to his point about the IV was valid and stopped flailing. "Now."

"You can't. You're still very sick and if you leave now you could die. This is a medical center and you are receiving the treatment you need. Once you're healed you'll be free to go, though something tells me you'll prefer to stay within these walls."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Merely stating a hypothesis. I assumed you'd understand and be grateful for our help… and our protection."

"Protection," Vera repeated, wilting. "You mean from the witch? Or from… Crona?"

"Interesting. Why would you need protecting from Crona?"

"It's not just me," she shot, trying to shake her coal black hair out of her face. "We all need protection from that monster."

"You are aware that Crona is a student at this academy."

"Maybe he used to be. But that's not what she has planned for him. I assumed you all had figured that out by now. You _have_ figured that out, right?"

The man she assumed was the fabled Professor Stein moved in closer and she flinched away. She didn't know what she was expecting, only that it was going to be unpleasant. However, he merely leaned over her and undid the restraints around her wrists. Notably, he left the ones around her ankles intact. Then he put his hands back in his pockets and gave her a critical look.

"We are aware that up until recently you were a pawn for the witch Pendra, who has taken an interest in Crona. We know that that must have been difficult for you."

"Difficult," she repeated incredulously. "Are you serious?"

" _We are also aware_ ," he continued over her. "That you attempted to do something to Crona before being released by the witch. It is very important that you tell us what that something was and whether or not you succeeded."

Vera went rigid. Stabbing in her chest, blood in her mouth. The sound his skull made as she cracked it against the brick. The stunned expression on his face which slowly went blank, rather the way she imagined her own face must've looked that first night. Suddenly, she wanted to vomit.

"I can't talk about this," she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor.

"You were badly dehydrated and malnourished, not to mention suffering from a severe reaction to magical proteins. We've given you as much time as we could to let you recover, but now that you're awake we need to know what you remember."

"Why are you asking me?! Don't you know already?!"

"Know. What."

"About Crona. Hasn't he gone to her? Or do you have him locked up like me?"

"Crona's fine, he's at home-"

"He's free," she shrieked, lurching violently.

She would've fallen out of the bed if Stein hadn't caught her. Vera grabbed him by the shoulders, pressing her fingers into his muscle so hard her nails went white. Her eyes were wide and crazed again.

"Listen to me," she said, voice once again surprisingly steady. "You need to lock him up. Now. He's not fine. He's not safe."

"We know you must blame Crona for the death of your parents-"

"This isn't about that! This is about the centipede she made me put inside him!"

"Crona's blood tested negative for magical proteins-"

"Of course it did! The centipede disintegrates into chitosan coated magical proteins that can stay hidden in the plasma. They won't become hydrophobic until activated, you couldn't have seen them!"

"How do you-"

"I just know, now will you shut up and listen to me! The centipede is inside Crona and it will activate the second he becomes too stressed and drops his guard. He's a time bomb and you need to lock him up _**now!**_ "

Professor Stein looked at her dangerously, analytically, evaluating her, but she didn't care. She'd switched sides on the board and now this school's safety was her's. Self preservation kicked in and she screamed:

" _ **Now god damn it!**_ "

* * *

"I don't understand why I'm here…" Crona trailed off, looking around with an evident and acute discomfort.

The room had a distinct cubic structure and a faint, green glow. Stairs led to platforms that didn't line up and blue lines made angular webs on the walls. And at the center a platform decorated with fire and a yellow rug. Outside he knew the trees were encased in green fog, their dead branches like arrows pointing every which way. The entire area was designed to mislead, but he had always been able to find her no matter the circumstances. He remembered this place in his dreams, the arrow through his abdomen, the cold sensation of draining.

"You wanted to know if your dormant Madness could be forcibly reactivated without accessing your behavioral conditioning," Lady Medusa said matter-of-factly, folding her arms and coming up beside him. "This is the last journal, and your being here causes me to conclude that the procedure didn't work, but I had plans."

"Plans to kill me," he said bitterly. "I already know what happened here! I don't need to see it!"

"Why are you so agitated? We're not here to relive whatever you experienced and even if we were, you cannot be injured within these pages. Surely you remember that. Now quit your fussing and follow me."

"What if I don't want to go," he said after a pause. "What if I don't want to know about your plans?"

"That is your choice. But you shouldn't lie to yourself about such things. You've come so far; you can't stop now. This is the last journal, the end of what I can tell you, will you really let something petty like death stop you?"

"Answer my question here," Crona whispered, still not moving. "Can you forcibly activate dormant Madness? Once I have my solution will I be safe?"

"Yes and no. If you want to know why, you need to follow me."

There was another long pause and she turned to face him, sighing in mild frustration. Crona grasped his arm above the elbow, recoiling from her disappointment as if it was a physical blow. Even now… she wasn't the Lady Medusa he remembered but she remained Lady Medusa. She was his mother.

"I was very weak," she started, giving him a wry smile. "Trapped in the body of a child, only a fraction of my former self. And you had gotten so strong, Crona. You'd always been a defiant child, but this was the first time you'd been stable enough to turn on me. You never liked being controlled and I respected that. Still, I couldn't let it stand. Neither could I utilize your behavioral conditioning; your mind was too sound for mere verbal commands and my magic insufficient to activate the programming inside you. I needed an alternative. I needed to reintegrate myself into your life."

"I came here with Miss Marie. I came… to stop you."

"Of course you came. I knew you would, one way or another, and I knew restraining you would be difficult in my state."

Something inside him snapped and he dropped his fists to his sides, scowling.

"Restraining me?! You tried to kill me!"

Her reptilian eyes blinked at him, slowly, her expression darkening.

"Is that really what you think? No Crona, I would never kill you. You are my child-"

"Don't say that. Not ever. I still have the scar from where your arrow almost cut me in half," he hissed coldly, pressing a hand to his stomach. "I still remember you standing over me with your Vector Blade. I still have nightmares."

"Where is the scar? There, across your abdomen? Clearly you survived, so why are you so upset? Follow me and I'll show you what I had planned for that night. If you don't believe me now, you will after you see it."

With that she turned her back and moved off across the stone, leaping nimbly from one platform to another, propelled by black arrows she manifested on the floor. After a moment of consideration, Crona's curiosity overcame his anger and he went after her. The plates felt wrong under his feet, the surge of magic around his body like a damp fog. He didn't like it, but he did it anyway. Hunger gnawed inside him; he had to know. How was he supposed to move forward if he didn't know? What was he supposed to do?

Lady Medusa pressed a hand into the back wall and an invisible panel slid open. Without checking to see if he was following, she slunk in, disappearing. Crona tried to take a deep breath, but his ribs were so tight it just whispered across his lips, echoing against the stone. For the first time, fear of knowledge curled in his gut. He was so certain of what had happened that night, at peace with it even. But what was beyond this door… it could change everything and he wasn't sure he wanted things to change. Truth always seems desirable until it's looking you in the face. Something told him to leave, to flee the journals and never come back, yet the hunger pulled him forward. The need to know was like a biological imperative at this point. He couldn't deny it.

Inside there was a single tank filled with bubbles and pale blue liquid. Needles attached to fine tubing squirmed like snakes in the current, flicking independent of gravity as the bubbles pushed them around. She stood next to it, a hand pressed against the glass, eyes pale in the dim light that filtered through the water. The room was dark otherwise.

"Everyone has Madness," she started in a low voice, not looking at him. "But you, Crona, you're special. You were engineered with Madness in mind. And yet that _girl_ purged it from you. I knew of her Anti-Magic Wavelength, I knew who her parents were and what she was capable of. It really was a shame that she stumbled upon those capabilities while fighting you. Despite your origins you've always been a gentle child, so difficult to persuade. Once she made those traits dominant and you'd attached yourself to her, I knew there was no going back for you. So I was going to have to either destroy you or remove her from your mind."

"What are you saying-"

"That _that girl_ took you away from me!"

She snapped suddenly, her hand forming a fist against the glass as her eyes darted to him. The intensity in her gaze was such that he recoiled, taking a half step back. He had never seen her angry like this before, not once.

"I could never allow her to have you. I could never let you be controlled by anyone else, not another witch and most assuredly not some stupid little girl. So I created a treatment plan that would purge your memories. Wipe her from your mind, eradicate all traces of stability and sanity her presence had deposited in you. Once you were blank you would be mine again and I would be able to reintegrate your Madness. Things would return to how they were meant to be. Just you and I."

"I would never let you do that…"

Crona said the words without considering them, allowing them to simply flow from a place inside his chest. He was too confused to do otherwise, too consumed by a thousand feelings he didn't know how to deal with. What was she saying… what did it mean?

"Of course I was well aware of that," she spat, though the irritation in her voice had begun to subside. "So I would need to subdue you before the procedure. I was going to have to hurt you to get you back."

"Hurt me? I almost died. I would've died if it hadn't been for Maka and Professor Stein. Nothing you say can change that."

"But you didn't die. I designed your body; I know exactly how much physical damage it can take. Even after the Black Blood is deactivated, which would have needed to happen for me to make even the slightest impact, your body is nearly indestructible. It heals quickly, can survive extreme temperatures, malnutrition, severe blood loss. Perhaps to you it seemed like death, but any wounds inflicted by me would not have killed you."

"Stop it… Don't say another word…"

"I needed to incapacitate you, then place you in this tank where over the course of weeks your mind would be rewritten through continuous exposure to my magic and blood. Just like when you were a child. I was going to make you mine once again."

"Stop! You're lying!"

She turned fully to face him such that the light from the tank was behind her, casting her face into shadows. But her voice was soft and wrong and terrifying.

"I can neither hurt nor lie to you. I would not have killed you. You are my child, Crona. My pride and my legacy. You are the greatest thing I have ever made and I wanted you back."

Crona snapped the journal closed, trembling and gasping. He felt sick, light headed, as if all the blood had drained right out of him. His mind was reeling as the world spun all around, the pieces of his shattered reality glinting like a mirage on the floor. It wasn't true- it couldn't be- it wasn't. All this time he'd thought she'd tired of him and the only way to survive was to kill her. Of course there were other factors, the guilt that still squirmed inside him for one, but an undeniable facet of selfishness had been the prime motivator in his decision. If he wanted to live she'd had to die. But that hadn't been accurate; returning to her was an option. He'd had a choice and he'd chosen to kill his own mother.

No, that wasn't right either. He hadn't killed her- hadn't even managed to harm her. The anxiety took fistfuls of his gut and twisted them so hard he thought he would vomit. Muscles constricted in his throat and chest so tight he couldn't breathe. Sensory information flooded in so loud he couldn't think. Memory distorted in a monstrous reenactment and above it all someone was laughing.

"Isn't that interesting," giggled a voice he'd come to recognize yet still couldn't place. "And all this time you thought her death was unavoidable, the right thing to do even. Things aren't so simple now, are they."

Blinking hard, he looked up, allowing his gaze to become entangled in a garnet stare. Dissonance rang in his head, because he recognized the person standing there, but couldn't fathom how she'd come to be in their living room. Nor could he connect the voice to her body. Because the witch Pendra wasn't there… and yet she was. Her smile was wicked and gleeful, her brass bracelets jingling harshly as she moved towards him. There was no sensation when she touched his face, running one finger along his jaw to his pointed chin.

"Now it wasn't something that had to be done. Now it's murder. And you've been sleeping with your mother's murderer."

"Crona," said Maka curiously, giving the trembling sword meister a sideways look. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer, or even acknowledge the sound of her voice. His eyes were wide and blue and staring straight forward, his face and hands ghost white. Soul set down the dish he was about to put away and turned, expression dark. Gingerly, Maka reached out to brush Crona's shoulder.

"Don't touch me!"

She pulled away sharply, holding her fingers close to her chest in sudden surprise. His shoulder was covered in thorns too small to see, but she could feel them. A bead of bright crimson grew on the tip of her pointer, glinting in the electric light. Lurching forward, he stumbled to his feet, letting the journal he'd been reading so attentively clatter to the floor.

"Don't touch me," he repeated, whispering this time. "Don't touch me…"

"Hey man, what gives," called Soul, advancing towards the couch from the kitchen.

"She killed your mother," Pendra's voice echoed in his ear as she came up beside him. "Your mother wanted you back and she killed her."

"Stop it! Shut up!"

"Crona, who are you talking to?! What's going on?"

Maka was on her feet, hands held out defensively, emerald eyes focused and hurt. Behind him Soul was still advancing, face set in rigid concern as Madness throbbed in his scar. Crona could feel it inside himself too, past the sickness, an escape from all these whirling emotions he didn't know how to deal with. The abyss yawned out at him, calling him, devouring him. Something wet chilled his fingertips and, still trembling horribly, he looked down. Black Blood shone like tar in his nail beds, draining out of him, escaping his control. Shrieking in earnest, Crona fled. Nimbly he dodged between Soul and Maka, bumping into the side table and tripping over his own feet on his way to the bathroom.

"Wait! Crona, what's happening," Maka shouted, tearing after him.

She hesitated when she got to the closed door though. The knob was slippery with Black Blood, the white paint streaked with it. Terrified, she looked back over her shoulder at Soul. The weapon swallowed hard and made a move to join her. Then he froze, grunting in pain and pressing a hand to his scar.

"Go away. Go away! Just get out of here! Go," Crona sobbed from behind the door.

He curled up in the bathtub, pressing his face into his knees and his hands over his ears. Still her voice came, whispers, things he didn't want to think about. Then she grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head up, forcing him to confront the thing he most feared. The other Crona stared back at him, smiling a wide, gash-like smile, eyes void. His hands cupped Crona's face and he brought it so close to his their noses touched and Crona's insides turned to cold worms. Terror kept him still and quiet as the other's mouth stretched wide, panic paralyzed him as something like liquid caught the light in the back of his throat.

A sphere of Black Blood shot out of the other's mouth and into Crona's. He let out a gurgling scream, eyes rolling back as addictive power coursed through him. Soul yelled, collapsing onto the floor in sudden agony. Maka threw caution to the winds and kicked the bathroom door in.

At first the room appeared empty, as if Crona had made some kind of impossible escape. White, incandescent light glimmered on the porcelain surfaces. Water dripped in the sink. And the ground was slick with Black Blood leading to the bathtub.

"Crona," she called uncertainly, stepping onto the wet tile. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm here; tell me what you need."

Fingers crawled over the edge of the tub. They were followed by a hand, then another. Blood pulsed from the place where the nail burrowed into the flesh, dripping, running down the shining white side. Next came a face she didn't recognize, wild and pale, framed with pink hair. The mouth was twisted upwards grotesquely, teeth stained, and the eyes were massive and pitch black. More blood ran in thin streams from the corners of those vacant eyes, from the mouth, and from the pink scalp. Slowly, the creature oozed from the tub and onto the floor, giggling a low, manic giggle.

"You killed her…" the thing moved its lips and Crona's voice came out all wrong. "She raised me on blood and milk, she gave me life and purpose, she was my world, and you took her away from me."

"Crona," Maka said, fighting to keep her voice steady as fear made a nest in her intestines. "Listen to me. You need to calm down. This isn't who you are-"

"But it's who I'm meant to be. Don't you see? You killed her and I felt… so free. I never dreamed I could be so free. This is what she wanted for me. This is why she made me, her pride and legacy. Isn't that funny?"

"Crona stop it."

Her voice was firm, but her body was retreating, stepping backwards as this thing that was the person she loved crawled towards her. It was inhuman and terrifying and unrecognizable, but it was still Crona. She could reach him. She knew she could. He didn't stop. He screamed:

"You took her away from me! And before that you took me away from her! You're too bright for a pitch black being like me! You burned me into nothing but ash and shadow and still she wanted me back! What gave you the right! Why did you destroy me?!"

She slipped on the bloody tile and landed hard on her tailbone. A yelp tore free from her throat, but Crona was unfazed. If anything he seemed to enjoy her pain, chuckling in a low, sinister tone. Slowly, crawling on all fours, he advanced. Maka scooted back, her palms slipping out from under her, retreating until she'd exited the bathroom.

"I don't understand," she cried, giving him a pleading, agonized look. "I don't understand where this is coming from! What's happened Crona? Please, tell me. Tell me what I can do to help you!"

"You? You did this to me. You made me think I was something else but I'm not. It's your fault, all of it, everything, it's your fault…"

The blood on the floor came alive with thorny vines that swayed through the air like serpents all around him. They curled and uncurled lethargically, yet at the same time seemed to vibrate with intensity. Maka could feel the Madness emitting from them, saturating the air. Fear like she hadn't felt since the Kishin hammered in her chest, then sank when her back hit the wall.

"Maka," grunted Soul, his voice just barely making it out of his curled up form. "Run."

"Crona," she tried again, soft, plaintive. "Please. It's me. It's Maka. Don't you recognize me? Please stop this."

"There is no stopping what has begun. There is no turning away from the way she made me. The only thing a pitch black being like me can do is…"

One of the vines pulled itself from the pools on the ground and sped towards her. She didn't even have time to react. From Maka's perspective there was just a flash of black and then a horrible, stabbing pain in her shoulder. Still, she didn't scream. Not until she looked down and saw the pike of thorns poking out from the place just below her right collarbone. Even then, it was more of a moan. He hadn't done anything beyond superficial damage, yet he'd broken her heart. Maka looked at him, emerald eyes filling with tears, and a void looked back. Slowly the vine withdrew, pulling her forward and towards that blood stained smile.

Soul's fist closed around the vine and, grasping her firmly by the waist, he tore it out of her. Crimson blood sprayed the air, his and hers, and Crona's vacant stare followed the droplets. He looked… confused. His smile flickered. Then he seemed to remember thy were there and his pitch black eyes returned to their cowering forms. Snarling, Soul reached across Maka and pressed his bleeding palm against the wall behind her, inserting himself between her and Crona. His eyes flashed with rage.

"I will not let you hurt my meister," he growled in a low, savage voice. " Even if it's you, I won't let you hurt her!"

Crona froze, going rigid. The Black Blood contorted with his features; the movement of the vines became frantic. His fingers tensed against the tile, bleeding cuticles going white.

"Even if it's me," he repeated. "But who is me?"

No one had time to answer. There was the crash of wood splintering, a whirl of stitched white fabric, and then Professor Stein's charged hand met Crona's face. There was an electric sound that mixed horribly with Crona's scream as he was launched back. His head collided with the porcelain edge of the tub with a dull crack, his eyes stretching wide before his body hit the floor again. For a long, suspended moment they all watched his still form, holding their breath, thoughts racing. First his fingers twitched and their hearts stopped. Then, cautiously, he pushed himself up onto his knees, frowning. Black Blood lurched across the ground and ran over his skin, returning to his body. When he opened his storm cloud grey eyes there was no trace of the monster who'd been there moments before.

Blinking hard, his lips parted as if he was going to say something. Instead a convulsion seized him and he retched. The force of it brought him close to the ground again, hands pressed into the tile. Muscles contracted around his abdomen, arching his spine and squeezing his ribs with such power Maka could see the bones move through his black robe. Once again Black Blood dripped from his lips, but it was for an entirely different reason; something else was also glinting on those lips. A black chitin carcass with bright red legs emerged, slowly, each contraction of his visibly trembling frame expelling it from his body. Finally, after what seemed like minutes but couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, the dead insect hit the floor with a sick, splattering noise. And Medusa's child, breathing hard, collapsed next to it.

Maka, Soul, and Stein looked at his unconscious form with varying shades of fear, hurt, and pity. Who, they couldn't help but wonder, would he be when he woke up?


	27. Chapter 27

Swirling darkness engulfed him and penetrated him, murky, disjointed. It seemed strange to describe the darkness as swirling, but that was the only word he could think of that conveyed how… fluid it felt. There were currents seething through the black, constant yet going in all directions, creating whirlpools that pulled him further and further down. There was no temperature here, no sound or smell, nothing but the dark through which he drifted. At first that was the extent of his thoughts too, just a commentary on how dark it felt. Isolating. Consuming.

Curiosity was the first thing to break through, illuminating both his memory and the yawning pits in it. He'd been with Maka and Soul, nothing interesting had happened that day. Nothing interesting had happened in a while. Just people, constantly, always watching and waiting for disaster to occur. Waiting for his fragile humanity to give out and for the Madness to overwhelm him. Rather like this darkness… was that what had happened?

He'd been with Maka and Soul, in the living room. The light had been warm and tinged slightly yellow. They'd finished dinner and were just being together, Soul putting away clean dishes and Maka reading a book of John Donne's poetry next to him. Quiet. And he… had been reading his mother's last journal.

His pulse quickened in the stillness, but he didn't know why. He'd been reading the last journal and learned something important, something that had changed everything. Something that had broken him. And someone had taken advantage of that broken state. But he didn't remember. How had he gotten from there to here?

Here… his throat and head hurt horribly, like stinging, open cuts. He swallowed and pain seared across those cuts. The darkness behind his eyelids brightened, flickering and dancing, the light of candles. Even those were too bright for his aching head. Reflexively, he reached up to wipe the sleep from his eyes and massage his temples, yet though he told his body to move nothing happened. First he felt confused and tried again, then when the same result occurred a second time panic set in. It wasn't paralysis, at least not in the sense of his body wasn't working. No, he was being restrained.

His body was crumpled on cold, hard stone, arms bound to his sides by thick, metal bands that encircled him from shoulder to wrist. Even if he'd had the strength to break them, he lacked any leverage. He curled inwards, bringing his legs closer to his stomach and tucking his chin to his chest, whimpering. The movement triggered the rattling of heavy chains, which further anchored him to the wall. Braving the pain, he forced his eyes open and confirmed what he already knew: he was locked up in the DWMA dungeon. How he'd come to be there or what crime he'd committed were beyond the constraints of his memory, but there was no mistaking the thick grey bricks or dripping wax candles. The large, medieval wooden door with a tiny little window to the outside halls he'd wandered so thoroughly not too long ago.

And there, sitting cross-legged with her arms folded at the base of that door, was Maka. Her green eyes cracked open at the metallic sound of his chains, though she made no other move. She said nothing. Slowly, struggling awkwardly, Crona got his feet under him and sat up. Blinking at her, waiting for the reassurances that always came from her lips. Waiting for her to tell him this was all a mistake and take him home again. Nothing of the sort came. Just her stare, chilled and critical.

"Maka," he tried, his voice airy and pained as a fresh wave of needles sprayed his throat. "What's going on? Why am I all tied up?"

She didn't answer. At least, not verbally. Tension came onto her poker face, slim and barely perceptible, her eyes narrowing. Skeptical, but of what? The panic inside him bubbled, pressing against his ribs. His heart pounded and he felt tears prick his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Maka please, I don't understand. What's going on?"

More silence, appraising this time. Evaluating him, as if the earnest edge in his voice was a source of disbelief rather than persuasion. Again, her expression changed, her lips pursing and nostrils flaring. Crona had seen this face before, when she was best deciding how to scold Soul for whatever faux pas he'd committed. But it had a sharper tip, a hint of the way she sized up opponents. His fear was burning, yet the prey instincts inside held him still and contained. Focused on the pinching in his throat and the throbbing in his skull. Because if he slipped now, if he let himself feel her gaze, he was going to cry and then there would be no avoiding whatever punishment was assuredly on its way. Tears would be an admission of guilt which he couldn't afford. So he waited, eyes wide and chin tucked, for her to speak.

"You attacked me," she answered slowly, matter-of-factly.

Crona felt the blood rush to his head. His lips parted, but he was too confused and afraid to gasp.

"No… I wouldn't. You know I would never-"

"You _hurt_ me, Crona. You could've killed me."

"That's a lie," he shouted, his fragile control snapping as full fledged denial took the helm. "Maka, why are you lying to me? Tell me what's going on!"

"I _**am**_ telling you," she snapped back, dropping her arms and leaning forward.

Fury charred her features as she pulled her shirt off her shoulder, revealing a thick white bandage over her collarbone. Dark, dried blood made a circular stain on the gauze and Crona's insides liquefied.

"No… but… I wouldn't…" he repeated, giving his head a small shake. His ribs constricted under the metal bands and he found it increasingly hard to breathe. The world spun around him.

"But you did. You lost control and if Dr. Stein hadn't shown up both Soul and I could've died. Do you understand that? You were going to kill us."

"No."

"No? Are you saying I made it up?"

"No I- That can't be right. I don't remember…"

"Don't remember what?"

"Any of it!"

Stillness and silence. Terror and hurt made themselves apparent on Crona's face as he tried and failed to form words. Darkness continued to swirl within him, currents of blood that pulsed through his body. Creating too much pressure for him to handle. Only her stare kept him from falling apart, her emerald eyes that were so horribly devoid of the warmth that usually inhabited them. For the first time since he'd known her- really known her, Crona did not feel safe. He looked back, frightened and lost.

"Listen," she said after a moment, softening just a little. "It's not entirely your fault, we all know that. One of Pendra's centipedes was inside you and she made you do it. But you have to be honest with me now, about everything. You have to tell me the truth."

"I don't know. I don't remember attacking you or Soul. I wouldn't have done it," he repeated, shell shocked, eyes wide and ice blue.

"You have to try. Think, Crona. What _do_ you remember?"

"I-I was r-reading. And then I w-was upset," he struggled.

"Why were you upset," Maka pressed, her voice chilled. "Vera says the centipede inside you would've become active in response to an extreme stress. What triggered it?"

"Maka please," he said abruptly, looking her dead in the eye. "Please don't make me do this. I don't know. I don't want to remember."

Pause. The sound of his pounding heart beating like a drum in his ears. So loud he was sure Maka could hear it too. She tilted her head just a little, face devoid of compassion.

"But you do remember, don't you. You know what happened."

"I don't remember loosing control. I don't remember hurting you. I was reading and-"

"Reading," she scoffed suddenly. "Is that what you call it? Is that what you're doing when you look at those white pages?"

"What do you mean… of course it's reading."

"That's not how you describe it here."

Without taking her eyes off him, she fished around in her pocket. Curiously, he watched her, then she held up a small notebook bound in black leather and Crona blanched even further.

"You… went through my things?"

"Of course I did! I tore your room apart looking for anything that could tell me why the person I love impaled me with a thorny vine of Black Blood! And you obviously know what I found."

"Maka," he whispered. "I can explain."

She didn't give him time. Flipping the journal open, she found a specific page and started reading aloud:

"I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with this. I can't deal with this. The answers are in there, everything I need to know to understand the Black Blood is in there, but to learn it I have to talk to her. It's not like the other journals; these new ones are magic. _She's_ there. Lady Medusa is inside them. I go inside the pages and into her laboratories and we talk. We have conversations and that's how the knowledge is transferred. But I'm the only one she'll talk to."

"Stop it," breathed Crona, mortified.

"Because I'm her child," Maka continued, ignoring him. "Because I was made from her and her magic is inside of me, I'm the only one who can use the journals. I'm scared. I don't want to keep this a secret, I know I'm not allowed to have secrets, but I'm afraid of what will happen if anyone finds out. This school, the DWMA, it's my home now and I don't want to leave. If they find out I'm… If they find out what I am… They kill things like me, Ragnarok said so. And he's right. Even if they don't kill me, they'd make me stop and I don't want that. I want to study the Black Blood. I want to see my mother-"

"Stop it!"

Crona tore the book from her hands using his mind and threw it across the room. She looked at him angrily, knowingly, and he looked back. His pale eyes swirled with darkness as he trembled.

"I'm sorry, I… Just… stop."

"All this time," she said in a cool, controlled tone. "You've been lying right to my face."

"You never asked explicitly, so it wasn't lying…"

"Don't mince words. You knew what you were doing and you knew we wouldn't allow it, but you did it anyway. What did you expect was going to happen! Did you think you could just play with Medusa's magic and everything would be fine? Were you not even a little concerned about the Pull? And besides that, what possessed you to go back to that abusive monster?! Why didn't you say anything?!"

"I couldn't let you stop me."

"Why not! What's so god damn important that you'd risk ending up here!"

A thin, humming wire inside his chest snapped and he screamed:

"Becoming safe! I want to be safe Maka! I want to be normal!"

Maka lost control. She leapt to her feet, hands balled into fists at her sides, and screamed back:

"But you're not normal! You're Medusa's child, your blood is black, you can never be normal!"

Their voices echoed off the stone, cutting deeper and deeper with every fading repetition. Hurt, anger, fear, betrayal, they all coated the room like ash. Choking. Toxic.

"Even so," he said after a long, razor sharp moment. "I want to try."

She didn't miss a beat.

"What do you remember?"

Her gaze and voice were both hard and metallic and Crona found himself hardening too. His fear gave way to indignant anger as his own gaze chilled.

"I remember Lady Medusa," he started, feeling suddenly free. "I was in the last journal, the place where we fought her that last time. She'd known I was coming; she was waiting for me. Behind the walls there was a tank and in that tank I was going to be reborn. Her plan was to take me back but you killed her before she could. My mother wanted me back and you killed her."

Craning his neck, he looked her full in the face, accusatory, but she didn't wilt. If anything his stare just irritated her further.

"Yes, I killed her. And I would do it again because I thought she'd killed you first. Even without that, even without what she did to Professor Stein and that little girl, I would've killed her anyway. After everything she did to you, every torture she put you through, she deserved to die. She was a monster."

"But she was still my mother," Crona yelled, lurching forward until the chains went taught. "She was my mother and you took her away from me!"

"And before that I took you away from her," Maka spat. "Yes, I know, you already told me. What I don't understand is why that's important all of a sudden."

Again their words echoed into still oblivion. Crona watched as Maka's anger cooled, just a little, just enough for her own pain to catch the candle light in her eyes. Like silver gleaming beneath tarnish. And her grief and confusion reminded him of his own. Slowly, he relaxed and dropped his gaze, allowing his features to become neutral. Her question dug into him, burrowed through his mind, hollowing him out until only the horrible, unthinkable, undeniable truth remained.

"You love your mother," he whispered. "Is it so hard to believe that I loved mine? I knew- know it had to be done. I know you had to kill her and I don't blame you, not really. But Maka you have to understand… I thought she hated me and was going to kill me, but that's not true at all. I'm… her legacy and I was… special to her. When I heard that, when I got to know her the way she was as a scientist, suddenly everything was too much and I… didn't know how to deal with it. Then the other witch Pendra was there, inside my head, telling me things I didn't want to hear and I tried to hold back the Madness but she let it out. It always finds a way out, it always takes over. That's why I had to continue the research. Even though I knew it was dangerous, even though I wasn't allowed to, I had to do it anyway."

Stagnation engulfed them and Maka sighed heavily, trying to fill it. Licking her lips, she consulted the wall to her right and winced as if it was saying something particularly harsh.

"You crossed a line Crona. You've crossed too many lines."

"So I can be a person!"

"It's not that simple-"

"I don't want to be dangerous," he continued, cutting her off. "I don't want to loose control and hurt people! Don't you see, I have to learn to control my blood and my magic or they'll control me!"

"Yeah, well, look how that turned out," she breathed, refusing to look at him. "I don't know anymore… I want to believe you, but… How much of yourself have you been hiding from me? What aren't you telling me, even now? You promised you'd never hurt me but you did. You couldn't stop yourself."

"I can be better," insisted Crona, finally getting to his feet with some difficulty and giving her an intensely determined look. "Let me continue my research and I'll find a way to suppress my Madness for good. Read my notes, you'll see. I'm so close already, Maka. I can do this."

"That's not my decision," she cried, throwing her hands out to either side imploringly. "I love you Crona, but right now I'm furious and terrified and I don't know what to do! What are we supposed to do with you? How are we supposed to trust you, even _if_ we can get rid of Pendra? There's magic and Madness inside you and I can't stop it!"

"Maka…"

Pushing hair from her face, she chanced a glance in his direction. Crona was looking at her intently and something about the vulnerability in his eyes, the pain on his face, and the chains encircling his body broke her.

"I can't do this," she mumbled, turning and opening the dungeon door.

"Maka wait!"

Calmly, she slid out and, without a backwards glance, replaced the thick wood and locked it. Cutting off their line of sight, but not his voice. He called after her but it was too late; she was already flying down the halls, running away from the entire situation. She had to, she had to get far enough away that he wouldn't hear her cry.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Hi all. Sorry for the long update time; the black dog of depression struck again. I just wanted to let you all know that, though this happens from time to time and it does delay me, this story will be finished. So no worries on that front.**

 **Special not to OneTruthCup (since I cannot PM you): I very much enjoy your reviews and do try to keep your comments in mind when I write future chapters. I proofread by having my computer read the chapter out loud to me, but its pronunciation isn't always quite right. Thus I shall try to keep an eye on the whole "loose" thing. Your pointing it out, and everything else, is very much appreciated!**

 **As always, thank you all for reading, extra thank you to those who choose to review, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

"This whole time," said Kid, eyeing a small scorch mark on the cement. "They've been here, right under our noses."

"Bitch is nothing if not thorough," Soul added, coming up behind him with his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched.

"I take it the southeast section of the city is clear then?"

Kid glanced back at the scythe, ignoring the comment. His golden eyes were hard and professional; nevertheless, Soul could see the rage bubbling just below the surface. This was their home, Crona was their friend, and Pendra had violated both. How long had this been going on? What signs had they missed? How had it come to this?

"Near as I can tell, though we're going to need that magic detector Professor Stein is working on to be sure. They're slippery little bastards, but I got five."

"We're on number seven," bragged Patty, her high voice emanating from the pistol in Kid's left hand.

"Awesome," Soul sighed, trying to indulge her enthusiasm and suppress his own disgust at the same time. He failed on both fronts.

"It is disturbing how many there are," commented Kid, returning his attention to the search. "Fortunately there are only so many dark, damp places for them to hide. The benefits of living in the desert, I suppose."

"Yeah…"

They stood for a moment before Kid moved on, methodically. Soul hesitated another moment, then tailed him. Silence was thick between them.

"Is there something you wanted," asked Kid after a few blocks, the barest traces of annoyance slipping into his voice.

"Since I finished early," the scythe started cautiously. "I thought I'd check and see if you needed any help."

"Soul," the Reaper chastised, turning to face him fully. "I know you better than that. Why are you really here?"

He chuckled, though the noise was devoid of any happiness, and combed white hair from his eyes with his fingers. Golden eyes narrowed at him critically.

"Have you had a chance," Soul finally said, dropping all pretenses. "To talk to your father about Crona?"

"What about Crona," he asked warily, tucking his chin.

"Come on Kid, you know what I mean. What are you going to do with him?"

Again silence came between them, thick and oppressive. Crimson met gold as the two sized each other up, evaluating how much honesty was in order. What did Kid know? What would Soul do with the information? Things, it seemed, weren't so simple when it came to Crona. They never were.

"Hey guys," tried Liz awkwardly, laughing a little forced laugh to fill the stillness. "No need to get all worked up. We'll clear away the centipedes, kill the witch, and things will go back to normal, no problem!"

"Is that true," Soul directed the question to Kid.

"Perhaps…"

"Wait, what," exclaimed Liz, her voice shrill. "What does that even mean!"

"It means that a course of action regarding Crona has not been determined."

"Not been determined…" Soul repeated. "But there's a plan and you don't think I'd like it."

"He's been working with magic Soul, even after he was instructed to stop. He kept the truth about Medusa's journals from us."

"And I'm just as mad about it as you are. What he did wasn't cool at all."

"It's more than just uncool; Crona jeopardized everything. Not because he was being influenced by a witch or controlled in some way, but because he thought he knew better. Don't you see how dangerous that is? Don't you understand why it can't be tolerated?"

"He's not some animal you can control, he's a person! Now I agree that he messed up and I agree with keeping him in the dungeons until this Pendra situation is taken care of. But treating him like a bomb that could go off at any minute isn't the answer."

"Then what, pray tell, is?"

"The underlying issue isn't that Crona's dangerous- Professor Stein is dangerous, hell, you're dangerous. It's that we fundamentally don't trust him and he doesn't trust us. Yeah he thought he knew better, but did any of us ever consider that he might be right? Did we ever think to have a conversation with him about it? No, we just tightened our grip."

"That was necessary."

"Maybe! Maybe we just made him more vulnerable. I don't know, but I can tell you one thing: we did exactly what he was afraid we'd do. We found out he could use magic and we locked him up."

"Magic is dangerous and using it even more so. Crona was gambling with our lives as well as his."

"I am not disputing that-"

"Then speak clearly."

Soul sighed through his nose, glancing upwards for a minute. The air was saturated with a tension through which he had to dig to find the right words, but Kid waited for him. Patiently. When he eventually returned his gaze to the Reaper it was with a powerful intensity.

"I know I was the one who didn't want this research to happen at all, and I know I haven't exactly been quiet about it. But it's not about the research, it's about how we communicate with Crona. Do we talk to him like a person or discipline him like an animal? Does he get to have an opinion or are we going to tell him what to think for the rest of his life? I'm not saying we let it slide, just… When we get Pendra, when this is all over, we talk to Crona instead of just judging him."

Kid pursed his lips and looked away, examining the alley wall to his left with sharp intensity.

"How many chances does Crona get," he muttered. "How many times is he allowed to endanger this world? We don't ask why a Kishin Egg was created we simply exterminate it. We don't politely explain to witches that destruction isn't acceptable we just kill them. That is the mission of the DWMA."

"Crona's different."

"How?! What makes him so special!"

"He's our friend! He's not a dangerous witch or a Kishin Egg, he's our friend! He can come back from this."

There was one final, long, jagged silence like a shard of broken glass. Soul looked at Kid, hard and imploring, but Kid didn't meet his crimson stare. Instead he continued to look at the wall, gripping his pistols, tense and unyielding.

"Can he?"

* * *

Vera started when she heard the door, jerking sharply towards it with such force her coal black hair fell across her face. Annoyed, she combed it from her eyes using her fingers, tucking the shoulder length strands back behind her ear. Her heart quickened with the sound of footsteps and then another girl about her age came around the screen. She was much thinner than Vera, lithe but strong, with a notably flat chest and thin, straw colored hair. In another life Vera had envied her tall form, fantasized about having nice legs and not getting back pain from carrying around oversized breasts. But that wasn't all; she'd also envied this girl's life, her father's adoration and her loyal and attractive partner. Her powers as a meister, the power to _do something_ about the evil in this world. Then she realized what poor taste this girl had in romantic partners and how truly unwilling she was to actually use her power for justice and her adoration had evaporated. Because anyone who could love a creature like Crona, protect rather than destroy it, was to be shunned rather than admired. Justice is all or nothing and, so long as Crona was at her side, it didn't matter what else this girl did, she could not be a just person.

"Maka Albarn," Vera said coldly, sizing her up. "Shouldn't you be out with the rest of your gang searching for the centipedes Pendra has in this city?"

"I wanted to talk to you first," she answered, equally cold. "Alone."

"Why alone?"

"No distractions. No men for you to charm or niceties to follow. I want you to look me, just me, in the eyes and tell me why."

"You do realize none of this has been my choice," she hissed. "I didn't _ask_ for any of it."

"Possession requires vulnerability of the soul. That's a fact of how it works. So I know there's some secret inside you that a witch took advantage of to force you into her service. But until I know what that secret is I can't trust you. And if I can't trust you then I can't leave you alone."

"Can't trust me? Are you serious? I had a centipede _inside my brain_ and it _made me_ do the things I've done. And it almost killed me, thanks for asking. Why would I want anything aside from the death of that witch?"

"Your blood may be clean, but so was Crona's. Yet she was inside him anyway. If you're still keeping your secret then you're still vulnerable and you could be possessed. We'd have no way of knowing, would we."

"Other than the fact that I'm getting better! Stein said humans can't tolerate magical proteins for long. If I was still possessed I'd be dead!"

"Doesn't mean you couldn't be possessed again. While we're all gone, looking for insects in a desert. Crona would be unguarded and no one would find it suspicious if you went for a walk. Seems too convenient for me."

"God you're paranoid! Look, I have no interest in going to see your precious Crona. It's in a cage, where it belongs, and that's good enough for me."

Anger came onto Maka's face and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Vera sneered, shaking her head at the other girl's reaction. Her eyes flashed in the white, medical light.

"Why do you hate him so much," Maka asked after a tense moment. "What did he ever do to you?"

"So you're telling me," she snorted back. "You don't know? They didn't tell you who I am?"

"Don't insult me, of course I know who you are! Vera Aven, human, studied history at Death Academy until dropping out about a year ago. Both your parents were killed when their apartment complex collapsed the night Medusa attacked the city. I even know your blood type, B-. What I don't know is why you hate Crona so much you'd allow yourself to be possessed by a witch-"

"I didn't "allow" anything! I fought her with everything I had! And as for Crona, if you know so much then you know that **it killed my parents!** All I could do was watch from a friend's house as the building burned. I was powerless then and I am powerless now."

"So you want Crona to suffer, is that it? For what, for being there? You know he's not the one responsible for anything that night. It was the Mizunes who burnt the city."

"I saw Crona flying over the buildings. I'll never forget the way those wings of Black Blood shone in the moonlight or the vacant look in its eyes."

" _He_ was different then! Medusa was controlling him! Besides that, Crona didn't destroy anything that night! He couldn't, he was beneath the school fighting me! You're holding a grudge against the wrong person!"

"That night? Seriously? Crona is just as guilty as the rest of them! It didn't care about the destruction it was causing then and it doesn't care now. If it did then it wouldn't be researching the Black Blood at all. If it wasn't a monster designed to destroy then none of this would be happening. The fact that you're fucking it doesn't change that!"

Maka took two quick steps and slapped Vera across the face. She stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the force of the blow. Then, with a toss of her hair and fire in her amber eyes, she took a swing right back. Except her hand was balled into a fist. The meister deflected easily, catching her wrist and twisting it, bringing Vera to her knees.

"Call Crona an "it" one more time," she dared in a low voice. "Say one more cruel, inaccurate thing about him. See what happens."

"Keep protecting _him_ ," Vera shot back. "Keep trying. Keep denying what _he_ is. See what happens."

"Let me make something clear," hissed Maka after a pause, twisting Vera's wrist until she winced. "I love Crona and I will do whatever it takes to make him safe and happy. Pendra is in my way and you helped her. Now, though, now you're going to help me. There's a way to undo all this and go back to how things were, I know there is."

"I don't remember anything like that," Vera spat. "Just her voice in my head, planning, talking about a bunch of magic shit I didn't understand."

"Try harder."

"I can't!"

Maka opened her mouth to say something scathing, then snapped it closed again. Her head jerked up, pupils dilating in response to perceived danger. She squeezed Vera's wrist so hard she could feel blood rushing through the limb. And she heard it too, the pounding of a heartbeat, quickening in fear. Beating a terrified, syncopated rhythm. But who's heart was it?

 _Maka_

"Crona," she whispered, eyes widening as a gasp passed over her lips into the suspended moment. "No… How…"

"Let me go," growled Vera, tugging against the meister.

Wordlessly Maka conceded, releasing Vera like she was something disgusting and taking off. Her shoes squealed against the tile, her pigtails flicked around the screen, and then she was gone.

* * *

Crona let out another pathetic, whimpering noise which echoed in the silence of his cell. He didn't know for how long he'd been crying- didn't care to know. Quantifying the time would've been pointless because you can't count to infinity. Can't contain an anguish that would never end. Maka had left an eternity ago and he'd been weeping ever since, for forever and a second. No one came to see if he was alright. No one heard or could hear his sorrow. Perhaps no one even cared. He was, after all, a traitor. A magic user. Someone deserving of these chains and this flickering light. A monster.

Was it only yesterday that he'd dreamed of being a person? Not so long since he'd been loved? Then in a flash of black chitin and crimson legs he'd found himself here. The swirling memories of a moment ago faded into the sounds of his own infinite sobbing and Crona found the more he thought of it, the less he remembered. Yet the more he understood.

Fragile hope was consumed by the blackness of his blood as tears pulsed in warm waves down his cheeks. That love, like everything here, like everything ever, had been conditional on good behavior. And he'd disobeyed. Not directly, but he'd done something he knew they wouldn't like. He'd made them angry. He was disgusting, a bad child, and this was his punishment. Alone in the dark, like always. Why had he expected this time to be different? Why had he thought he could get away with it? Why had he dreamed such a ridiculous, ephemeral dream in the first place?

She was too bright for a pitch black being like him. He'd known that. Yet he'd stayed close to her anyways. Brought his dark, twisted soul to her, let her burn it into ash. He should've stayed ash; yet he'd wanted more. He'd flown too close to the sun with his bloody wings and crashed back into his bleak reality. Crona remembered this and he knew what came next. The silence, the hunger, the thirst, and then the hell inside his head. Survival would take priority and when they tried to kill him he would fight back, unable to stop himself, unable to just die like he was supposed to.

Maka was gone and without Maka he couldn't hold back the Madness. Without Maka he couldn't be a person. Without Maka he… was Kishin.

"Shhh, don't cry, you're alright," soothed a voice he recognized with a sharp terror.

Fingers brushed his jaw line and his eyes snapped open. Violently, he jerked back, falling onto his side and looking wildly at the entity that couldn't be there. She narrowed garnet eyes and tossed dark curls from her face. The brass bands around her wrists jingled like bells and the cloth of her long skirt rustled as she advanced on him. Her smile was wicked. Crona wormed his way back into a corner and used the wall to stand up.

"You can't be here," he said in a raw tone, swollen eyes wide. "Go away. Go away! Leave me alone!"

"You know I won't do that," she chided, leaning in close to him.

He flinched back, but this time the usually safe corner trapped him. And his arms were bound tightly- he couldn't do anything. She smiled at his distress, leaning forward and running her tongue slowly up is cheek, licking his tears away.

"I won't leave you. Not when you finally understand. Not when you need me the most."

"I don't need you," Crona muttered, intending to sound more sure than he did.

"So it was your intention to end up in the dungeons waiting to die," she laughed, placing one hand on either side of his head and forcing him to look at her. "Brilliantly executed. Or is that an insensitive choice of words?"

"Th-they w-won't kill me," he stammered, heart pounding. "They're n-not going to kill me."

"No, of course not. I would never let that happen. That's why I came to get you. To help you escape."

"My- my friends are here," he tried to threaten her even as the trembling started in his shoulders. "They'll come any minute."

"You're _"friends"_ are out hunting the dozens of centipedes I've had hidden in this city for months now," Pendra scoffed. "They're so focused on the ones outside they never thought to check if I had any _inside_. You're friends may be strong, I'll give them that, but they're not very smart at all. No one's coming for you except me."

"I'll scream!"

"I'm sure you will. This will hurt. But then, oh but then."

"Please," Crona's voice cracked as he begged, fresh tears welling to the surface.

"You still can't see that I'm helping you? Aren't you tired of being something you're not? Isn't it exhausting to hold back the storm? Stop trying. Give in and be Medusa's creation. Do what you were meant to do."

"I don't want that! I don't want to!"

"And why not," she snapped, giving his head a shake. "Because of that _girl_ , the meister? She's left you Crona! She and all of your so-called friends have turned on and abandoned you! You think any of them would advocate for you? You think they'll protect you from the Grim Reaper's wrath? If that were true do you think you'd be here? If they weren't afraid of you do you think you'd be chained up like this?"

Crona cast his gaze downward, biting into the side of his cheek. He wanted to reject the notion, to throw it back in her face with some evidence to the contrary. But he couldn't… The swirling thoughts in his mind found nothing to answer her questions. Nothing to refute the assertion that they, his friends, now viewed him as an enemy. What else could explain their behavior? What other reason was there for not just confining him, but literally chaining him to the wall? If they cared then where were they now, when he was so vulnerable?

"You know I'm right," she cooed, rubbing her thumbs across his still damp cheeks, just in front of his ears. "Deep down, you know I'm your only chance."

"Even so," he whispered, eyes rising to meet hers as the last remnants of his will steeled inside him. "Even if I am alone now, I don't want to hurt them. I'll fight you."

"Yes, I've learned that about you. It's a particularly vexing trait, but that's all. I have a counter measure waiting for you in my lab."

"I'm not going to your lab. I'm going to stay right here."

"No you're not. Did you think I came all this way just to ask you nicely? Surely you know me better than that by now. I've been inside your mind, Crona, I know how to persuade you."

"Get away," he yelled suddenly, closing his eyes and willing her back.

There was a pulse of power that radiated from his body, sending dust in all directions and causing the candle flames to dance. Pendra was torn away from him and skidded back, raising her arms defensively. Her garnet eyes came alive with anger and she practically snarled.

"Still being difficult. That's fine; I'll have you eating out of my hand before we're finished."

"Maka! She's here! Maka, the witch is here," Crona hollered, ignoring Pendra and shouting at the top of his lungs.

"It's useless. She's out with all your other little friends. No one can hear you. No one's coming to save you."

"Maka!"

He felt the name leave his lips, tasted its texture and heard it echo off the stone. But there was more, a tingling feeling in his head, a form of communication past words. And there, just past sensation and knowledge, she responded. Crona exhaled slowly, giving Pendra a defiant stare. She looked back at him with such frigidity his insides turned to ice. With a sinking horror, he remembered the cedar forest and dense ferns. The grey. The devouring void she could unleash inside him.

"I'm done playing games," Pendra said in a flat tone. "Now Crona, you're going to let me into you mind."

"No," he moaned, straining against his bonds as he tried to cover his ears. "Stop… Stop it!"

She didn't stop. Smiling cruelly, she advanced again. Something squirmed in her sleeve and, as she extended that hand towards him, a centipede crawled into her palm.

"You're going to tell me what you fear."

The shaking in his shoulders stopped suddenly and his body went rigid. A low buzzing started in his head, drowning out everything but her words. Obedience ached inside him like hunger and the resistance that had been so potent moments before slipped away. Desperately, he grasped at it, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Please…"

"Tell me what you fear," she repeated, slowly. "Be specific."

"I'm afraid I've lost my friends," he whispered, relaxing into the emptiness she created. "I'm afraid they'll try and kill me, then I'll kill them. I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself anymore."

"Good, that's very good Crona," she cooed. "I'm going to put this in your ear now, so you'll know where to go, and then you will come to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes… I understand…"

Pendra brought the centipede to the side of his face, brushing hair away from his ear tenderly with the other hand. The insect dove in, its black chitin body and red legs flashing in the candlelight as it burrowed inside him. Crona held himself completely still, allowing it to happen, relinquishing what little control he had left. And too late Maka burst into the cell.

"Get away from him," she yelled from the doorway. "Don't you touch him!"

"Why not," Pendra asked coyly, stepping between Maka and Crona with a jingle. "He's mine now. I can do whatever I want with him."

Maka balled her hands into fists and prepared to launch herself at the witch, but something held her in place. A sensation in her mind, a distant breath against her soul, more of an impression than anything. Yet she heard.

 _Maka… my journal…_

She didn't have time to react or even process. There was the terrible sound of shearing metal and wings of Black Blood tore from Crona's back, cutting through his bonds. They spread outwards, pressing against the stone walls of the cell until those too gave way. Maka stepped back, holding her arms over her head defensively against the dust and debris. Afternoon light spilled in, throwing Crona into shadow as his wings stretched wide. For one suspended moment Maka looked at him, desperately, imploringly, but she couldn't tell if he was looking back. She couldn't see him, couldn't feel him, as if he wasn't there at all. Without a word he took off, flying into the sun as Pendra's phantom laughed.


	29. Chapter 29

Static has a way of filling up a space like a liquid. Even at a low volume, even muffled and barely perceptible, it permeates everything. The flickering light created balance, uniting everything in the room with its own pulsing shadow, sharpening details and yet degrading reality. And the flickering sound engulfed all noise and thought in a constant, low, deafening buzzing. A numbness. There was nothing but the static, filling the room and the world and her mind. Nothing left, because just as the static came onto the TV screen after all the programs had finished running for the day, it came into her head at the end of her ability to think. She couldn't process anymore, couldn't stand the raging storm of emotion within her, so she drowned it all in static. Time had passed, but how much was impossible to tell. The world continued outside, but she couldn't experience it past the static's stasis. There was a presence, hovering at the corner where the living room turned into the hall, trying to break the oceanic spell, but she ignored it. Her eyes remained forward, hypnotized by the black and white pixels as they flashed, filling the void between them.

"There was nothing else you could've done," Soul said quietly, intruding in the least aggressive way. "You know that right."

Maka didn't answer. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest and pressed her chin to them.

"This witch," he continued pressing. "She's insidious, but not invincible."

Static and stillness. Her face remained completely neutral.

"We're going to find him. Lord Death-"

"Lord Death," she spat suddenly, curling her fingers into fists in the cloth of her pants. "Said he would be safe. He was supposed to keep him safe."

"Yeah, you mentioned that earlier," said Soul with a wry, hollow smile. "Very loudly and right to his face. I don't know how you have the balls to scream at Lord Death that way."

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't accomplish anything."

"We are going to find him."

"I…" Maka started, then trailed off. Her fists tightened until her knuckles went white, though her face remained impassive. "I can't feel him Soul… I can't reach him…"

"It's fine. We're going to try again tomorrow, when we're both rested."

"No, you don't understand. He was right there, right in front of me, but I couldn't feel him at all. I couldn't sense him even when I was looking right at him. It's like he's not Crona anymore and I-"

"It's okay," Soul soothed, pushing off from the wall and settling next to her on the couch.

"But it's not! What's she done to him?! What's she doing to him right now?! What have I allowed to happen…"

"Listen," he said sternly, resting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "You didn't "allow" any of this. None of us did. This is the witch's fault and no one else's, understand?"

"Don't try to make me feel better," she chided. "Possession requires weakness, it's not something that can just happen. And I made him weak. I told him that I didn't know what to do with him. That I didn't know how to trust him. I abandoned him, just when he needed me the most, because I was angry and afraid and look what happened. I should've stayed with him. I should've-"

"But you didn't," Soul cut her off sharply. "None of that matters now. You did the best you could with the information you had at the time."

"It wasn't good enough."

"So do better! Wallowing around like this isn't cool, and it's not helping Crona. Get it together. _Do_ something."

His words echoed in the static, causing Maka's expression to tense.

"I don't know _what_ to do," she finally admitted. "This is all happening so fast and I-I'm scared… What happens if we don't find him? What happens if we do?"

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it. But you're going to be useless if you're so tired you can't see straight."

"You're right," Maka mumbled in resignation.

"Always am. So go to bed. We'll get back to it first thing."

"Okay. Okay, I will, just…give me a minute."

Soul nodded, releasing her shoulder and standing up. For a moment he tried to do something reassuring with his face like grin, but when that failed he just nodded again, turning and heading to his room. She waited for the sound of his door closing behind him to follow suit, getting to her feet and making her way to the TV. Her fingers rested on the dial, hesitating, then with a short sigh through her nose she switched it off decisively, turned on her heel, and headed down the hall. But when she got to her door she hesitated again, biting her lower lip. Yes she was exhausted, just not in a way that could be cured by sleep. Emerald eyes slid further down the hall, to the end where Crona's room was, and before she knew what was happening her hand was on his doorknob instead. This time there was no hesitation.

Maka closed the door gently behind her and sat down on the edge of Crona's bed as she'd done a hundred times before. Only this time Crona wasn't in the bed with her. The place where his body should've been was vacant and flat, not even wrinkled. He'd made the bed yesterday morning, tucking the sheets in neatly. As if to make sure, she traced the spot where his hips would've been, then let her hand run up to his pillow. Feeling tears burn in her eyes, she laid down and grasped that pillow, holding it to her like a poor substitute for Crona. The sobs she'd been holding in all night ached in her throat, tearing at it, causing her to go red in the face as she restrained them. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to admit defeat. And yet the tears came nonetheless, leaking from her, running across the bridge of her nose and onto the pillow.

The last time she'd cried like this Crona had been there. He'd held her to his chest, run his fingers through her hair.

 _Shhh. Shhh, don't cry. It's all right now. It's all right, Little One. Shhh, don't cry._

The memory made her cry harder. His absence hurt like nothing she'd ever experienced and the pain she'd been trying to suppress came crashing down around her. Inside her. The sound of his wings tearing through his metallic bonds, the dust in her lungs as the wall burst, the vacant expression in his dark eyes before they were cast into shadow. And something else… a sensation in her mind. A whisper she wasn't even sure she'd heard. Crona's voice… what had he said there on the edge of her thoughts?

 _Maka… my journal…_

A spasm sent her bolt upright, eyes wide. That's right, he'd said he was working on a way to suppress his Madness, that that was why he'd continued the research unsupervised to begin with. He'd said he was close. Pendra was certainly going to unleash that Madness; when they found him Crona would be overcome with it. But if he'd designed a solution, something that would purge the Madness from his blood, there was a chance of getting him back without having to fight. There was a chance that whatever it was would purge Pendra's magic too. The answers were in his journal and his journal was…

Maka launched out of the bed and slid quickly but quietly into the hall, then out of the apartment, trying not to disturb Soul. He was right, she did need to sleep, and she would. After she'd accomplished her new goal. After she'd taken his other set of advice and _done_ something. Reaching the glow of the sodium lamp lit street, Maka took off running in her pajamas and bare feet, letting the wind dry her tears.

* * *

The medical wing was well insulated. Regardless of the heat outside, the room stayed cool. And in the frigid desert nights it stayed warm. She didn't think the temperature had changed by a degree since she'd woken up, like the wing had been designed with some kind of obsessive consistency in mind. Some kind of creepy, unsettling, and unnerving dedication to sameness that she simply couldn't understand. It was artificial… and isolating. Like the world had stopped and she was surrounded by stagnation. Like she'd just been removed from time. Forgotten in limbo.

Vera pressed her fingertips to the windowpane, gazing longingly at the city buildings and streets just outside. They were beautiful in the early morning light, glowing almost, casting long, dark shadows over each other to create a wonderful texture. She knew it was brisk out there, that anyone standing still would be eventually overcome with shivers and compelled to move about. She remembered, as if from a long time ago, that feeling, the sincerity of it. Of course she'd been cold, and hot, while under the witch's control, but it wasn't the same. The centipede in her brain had been insulating too; feeling and sensation dulled and the only thing she had known was her directive. There were also brief moments of agony when she'd fought off the spell, flashes of clarity and selfhood, pain she wished to forget. A life that had been in shambles before Pendra's seduction. What, she wondered, would she go back to when she was finally free again?

At least the glass was cool, conducting some of the chill from the outside to her fingers. In this world in which she had no agency, no power, it was real and kind enough to give her a sliver of truth. Something hot pricked her eyes, but she shook it off quickly, hardening with anger. This was all Crona's fault. Crona the murderer, Crona the monster, the one who took her family from her. So what if he hadn't lit the fire. Responsibility doesn't care about such trivial things. As Medusa's child and the executer of her will, Crona was just as guilty as the rest of them. A witch's tool can't be anything else. It-he- whatever, like her, had no choice.

 _Call Crona an "it" one more time…_

Pendra always referred to Crona as an "it," as something other than a person. Dehumanizing. And in her hatred she'd picked it up too; the word slipped through when she wasn't paying attention, mixing, confusing her. Pain leads to hatred and hatred to dehumanization and dehumanization to atrocity. In her studies she'd seen it time and again, and in her naïveté she'd thought herself above such primal cruelty. Then came the fire and the sight of Black Blood and things had become different. Crona was a created entity, a witch's synthesized child, genderless and freakish. It didn't qualify as a person. And yet the way Maka had attacked her, the contained passion in her eyes, her love. He was loved. He was sorry. But now, after all the commotion last night, she could only assume he was Pendra's. He or it, person or monster, redeemable or not. What did it all mean? What would she do if she didn't have someone to blame and hate?

"Hello Vera."

Her blood congealed in her veins and her heart stopped beating. Breath caught in her throat. Eyes widened as pupils dilated in response to danger. That voice- no, it couldn't be. Not here, not now. Slowly, trembling, she turned.

"I assume they're treating you well," Pendra continued conversationally, twisting a dark curl around her finger. The brass bands around her wrist jingled musically.

"Y-you-you're not h-here…" Vera stammered, pressing herself against the wall by the window. "You c-can't be here."

"Come now Vera, aren't you happy to see me? We had such fun, you and I. I thought you might be lonely without me."

"Leave me alone," she whispered, barely making a sound at all.

"Well aren't you boring. Frankly, though, what you want isn't important. I've been inside your mind, Vera; we're connected. I will always be with you now, you'll need to get used to that. But enough small talk. Follow me, there's something I think you'll appreciate."

Pendra turned and candlelight danced in her curls and across the dark, bare skin of her mid section. Her long carmine skirt rustled in the dampened air. Expectantly, she tossed a look back at Vera and, understanding it's meaning, the girl started forward. There was a disorienting, dizzy sensation and she spun around, staring back at something else that couldn't be. Her body remained behind, frozen against the wall of the infirmary, yet she herself was surrounded by rock wall and candles. A long tunnel of stone and fire, with moisture shimmering on the walls and dripping from the ceiling, causing the candles to sputter every now and again. Knowledge that wasn't hers told her this was her astral self, that Pendra had ripped it from her for the purpose of bringing her back here. She didn't want to go, didn't want to see whatever the witch was going to show her. She was afraid. Yet it was unavoidable. Turning her back on her body, Vera moved forward, trailing behind Pendra like an obedient shadow, shaking.

The first hint of what Pendra was so excited about was the sound of whimpering and moaning, echoing off the rock. Then the hall opened up into a wider cavern, with shelves of supplies and glassware, tables, chairs, and a figure. Like her, he was shaking, and like her, he had no choice anymore. His head hung forward so pink hair obscured his face and one hand hung limp by his side. The other made a lump under his robe at the shoulder, reaching across his chest and through the unbuttoned collar to access flesh. It was moving and he whimpered again.

"I wanted to show you the fruits of your labors," the witch cooed, approaching her prize. "You did it. Thanks to you, Crona is mine now."

"What…" Vera whispered, her lips parting in shock. "What have you done to him?"

"Oh so it's a him now," she laughed, grabbing Crona's wrist and extracting his hand from his robe.

His fingertips gleamed black with blood; he'd been scratching himself until he bled. Pendra moved his hand down to his side, then grabbed his chin and brought his face up. His eyes were wide and ice blue, unseeing. Vera remembered that feeling and it made her sick to see that expression on another face. Even if it was Crona's.

"What have you done to him," she repeated, firmer this time, though her insides felt like gelatin.

"There's a centipede inside it, just a normal one though. You preformed perfectly, the centipede you put inside it activated its Madness and all its allies rejected it. It's so weak now I barely have to put any energy at all into controlling it. Aren't you proud?"

She didn't say anything, biting into her lower lip and looking at Crona. In her core she knew no one deserved this. No one.

"This is its natural state, to be subservient. The programming Lady Medusa layered into its mind is proof enough of that."

"Programming?"

"Oh, didn't you know? When Crona here was a child, it was subjected to both magical and behavioral conditioning. Medusa would lock it away in the darkness for days on end without food or water, until it obeyed. Until it killed. She'd torture it, cast spells, infuse it with her own blood. Submission was its only escape from the pain its own continuing defiance caused. Why are you making that face? You look like you're going to cry. I thought you'd be pleased to know it suffers, just as you desired."

"I… didn't know…" Vera breathed, though she found it difficult. Her head was spinning.

"What does it matter? It's responsible for countless deaths, including your parents. Remember how you yearned for this? Remember how your hatred for it brought you to me? And we've accomplished so much together. Bask in your victory. Watch as I complete our mission."

"No… No, send me back."

"What's the matter? Loosing your nerve? Do you not have the stomach for victory," Pendra giggled.

She grabbed a fistful of Crona's hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. He gasped when she bit into it, taking the skin across his windpipe between her teeth delicately, nibbling. Vera felt sick and wanted to look away, but found she couldn't. She was rooted to the spot, helpless once again. Crona let out a series of little choking sounds, yet he didn't resist- couldn't, she understood that. Pendra released him after a moment of sucking, pushing him back into a chair that materialized behind him. Giving Vera a foreshadowing smirk, she released Crona's hair to use both hands to bind his wrists to the armrests. Securing his head with a leather strap around his neck. Then the witch moved her attention to his lips, kissing him passionately, inserting her tongue and exploring. His eyes went wide and he gagged as she pulled away just a little, just enough for Vera to see the centipede's blood red legs flash as it crawled from Crona's throat to Pendra's mouth.

For the first time Vera noticed a series of flexible, plastic tubes attached to the wall, connecting a cylinder of compressed gas to a mask. Her brow wrinkled in confusion; just what was it all for? What could the witch possibly be planning to do with that? Crona's blood would adapt to any sedative, so it wouldn't be effective for any appreciable amount of time. Leaving the centipede inside him would've made more sense. Unless… the Black Blood would've eventually cleared that too… Licking her lips, Pendra's eyes and curls slid over her shoulder as she fixed the girl with a devious, cruel gaze.

"You're here as my witness Vera," she said. "I know what you're thinking, and what your new "protectors" are hoping, that Crona's powerful immune response will free it from my control. That there's some chance of getting it back. But that's simply not what's going to happen. So long as you're here, I want you to take back that message."

"Ngh," Crona groaned, lifting his chin to relieve the pressure the strap was putting on his throat. His eyes flicked open, storm cloud grey and unfocused.

"It's true," Pendra continued, ignoring him and busying herself with the gas mask. "That the centipede would've been cleared. It was an early formulation and not very potent, allowing me to control Crona's weakened mind with ease, but not it's body. So I developed a counter measure: this gas. It contains proteins from my plasma, aerosolized, that will be adsorbed directly across the alveoli into the blood. No metabolic clearance, no need to penetrate the Black Blood. In just a few days its body will no longer reject my proteins as foreign and they will no longer be cleared. My magic will be a part of it, my control absolute."

Crona let out a low moan, tugging weakly at his restraints. Vera watched him blink away the haze, watched a secondary ring in his eyes expand and turn them ice blue. She heard his breath catch in his throat and saw something that couldn't be there come into his face. Because monsters are the thing in the dark, the end, death given form. Monsters have no reason to be afraid. Monsters are just as incapable of experiencing fear as they are remorse. Yet his expression, at first confused, became sharp and tense. He began to gasp in earnest as a fist tightened around his heart and his rib cage contracted. His fingers curled into fists as he strained against the leather that bound him. Even though it couldn't be, because he was a monster, Vera could see it. Crona was terrified.

"No," he moaned, voice hoarse. "No… Let me go… Don't touch me…"

"Hush now," soothed Pendra, playing with his hair with the hand closest to him as she opened the gas tank with a sharp his, adjusting the flow using a small knob on the regulator. "It will be better this way, you'll see. You'll remember what you are, don't you worry. Now hold still."

Crona thrashed, ineffectually, pulling away from her as best he could. Pendra let out a ringing laugh, catching the back of his head with one hand and pressing the mask over his nose and mouth with the other. His breathing was heavy and erratic, before he knew what had happened he'd inhaled deeply. The result was immediate. Rigidity froze him in contorted resistance, then another breath relaxed his muscles. Pale blue faded back to grey, then almost black as his pupils dilated. Under her spell once again.

"That's right Crona, that's good. This is what you are now. No use in fighting it."

"Why are you doing this to him?"

Vera hadn't realized she'd asked the question out loud until Pendra responded, giving her a cold smile. The girl stepped back, her own fear quickening her pulse.

"Why not? This is what it was made for."

"But he's… suffering…" she whispered, raising her hands to her chest defensively.

"Isn't that what you wanted? Aren't you pleased? Come now Vera, there's no need to be shy about it. We're the same, you and I. The pain of others is our pleasure. Justice can only be achieved _through_ suffering. I told you in the beginning this would happen, I promised you returning Crona to its original purpose would cause the most delicious agony, and you agreed to become my servant in exchange for that agony."

"No! That's not what happened! You used me, you forced me!"

"You followed my centipede to my lair of your own volition. I just offered you a deal and you took it to satisfy your hatred's hunger. Don't claim you never wanted vengeance now that you have it."

"I didn't know-"

"That doesn't matter! You're starting to bore me," Pendra snapped, turning her full attention to Vera. "If you continue to snub my hospitality I will have to punish you."

"No, please," Vera wilted, cowering before her.

"You're regaining your health, it seems," Pendra observed with a cruel grin. "Maybe I'll make you my spy again. You and Crona can work together to destroy Death City."

"No! No, stop! Don't come near me! I don't want to go back! I won't!"

She yelled, squeezing her eyes shut and willing it all away. But it didn't go away. Even through her eyelids she could see the witch, a centipede curled around her wrist, advancing. There was something behind her, preventing retreat, cornering her. Vera slid into a crouch, holding her fists before her scrunched up face. Pendra seemed to float, extending the insect which reared its head and flailed its blood red legs. A scream of pure horror tore from her lips as she braced herself.

"Vera! Vera wake up!"

Hands on her shoulders, shaking her. Warm hands, firm and yet still gentle. A voice she recognized. Dry air, the same temperature it had always been. A wall at her back and daylight shining through her eyelids. Gasping, she opened her wild eyes and was met with a concerned crimson stare. Soul Evans. Trembling, she blinked away tears of relief, trying to steady her breath.

"I'm okay," she insisted, whispering. Still, her fists wouldn't unclench and her sweat wouldn't dry.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, I-" her voice was steady even as fear boiled in her blood.

Uneasy, she looked around, rising slowly to her feet. Soul followed suit, his hands resting on her shoulders, guiding her. Again, her amber eyes flicked this way and that, then came to a rest on him as she reached a conclusion.

"Get me outta here," she commanded. "Take me out into the city, just for a little, just for a walk."

He gave her a skeptical look, pursing his lips.

"I wanted to talk to you," he started, trying to change the subject, but she cut him off.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Outside."

A moment of undecided silence.

"Please," she added, letting a little of her desperation slip through. "I can't take it any more. I need to get outta here, just for a little."

"Alright," said Soul after some consideration. "We'll talk at the park. How's that?"

Vera nodded enthusiastically, finally managing to drop her fists to her sides and uncurl her fingers. An appreciative smile twitched at her lips, which Soul returned cautiously as he lead her out of the infirmary.


	30. Chapter 30

The thorns are inside me

Twisting and biting

I feel them in my blood

In my mind

Waiting

Whispering from the edge of the abyss

Where I have stood so long

* * *

Have they always been there

Within me?

A part of me?

Buried deep and suppressed by magic not my own

An evolution of my Madness given form

When that magic disappeared

* * *

Or did they grow into the yawning void

Her absence has created

Something new?

Something avoidable?

Was I wrong to look into the abyss

To acknowledge its presence

Was I wrong to ask questions

* * *

Control

That's what they want

That's what they can't have

Their hunger tears my organs apart

I bleed where no one can see

And wonder if it would hurt so much if I just

Stopped resisting

Relinquished what I was never meant to have

Become what I was always meant to be

* * *

Still…

I won't give in.

* * *

Right or wrong I'll keep moving forward

I'll stay between these vines and the people I love

Find a way to stay

As a person

For though I am a witch's creation

Her child

Neither male nor female nor human

I am in control now

* * *

I cannot change what I am

But I decide who I am

* * *

There was a sound out in the hall and Maka brushed the tears from her eyes quickly with the back of her hand, closing Crona's journal and sliding her gaze to the door. She'd left it open in her haste, a dead give away that she was in there. A shiver trembled in her stomach, goose bumps erecting on her arms as she sat against the stone, waiting. The gaping hole in the wall across from her glowed with morning light, silent and still save for the approaching footsteps. They echoed down the hall, growing closer. Maka held her breath, though she wasn't entirely sure why. It wasn't like she was doing anything wrong. Then Tsubaki peered into the ruined cell and Maka sighed in relief. It wasn't Soul here to scold her, and Tsubaki was too polite to comment on her pajamas, bare feet, and swollen red eyes.

"I thought I'd find you here," Tsubaki said sweetly, giving her a sympathetic smile. "I wanted to ask if you needed anything."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Maka insisted, craning her neck to look up and return the smile unconvincingly.

Tsubaki gave her a very mildly disapproving face and turned her attention to her bulging shoulder bag. Wordlessly, she pulled out a blanket, draped it around Maka's shoulders, and settled next to her on the stone. Maka sighed appreciatively.

"Thanks…"

"What's that," Tsubaki asked after a moment, deciding that conversation was in order and gesturing to the little black book in Maka's lap.

"Nothing," she answered instinctively, clutching it tightly.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone then."

"No wait. I'm the one who should be sorry, you don't have to go."

The tall girl blinked at Maka and leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to direct the encounter. There for whatever form of support she needed. Sighing heavily through her nose, Maka pursed her lips and stared out at the city.

"This is," she started uncertainly, not sure why she was so nervous. "Crona's journal. I found it in his room and…"

"Do you think he knew where the witch was ahead of time," Tsubaki said, shocked.

"Nothing like that! It has personal stuff, but it's also his research journal. When I came to see him after he… before…" Maka struggled to organize the events in her head and articulate, but Tsubaki waited for her patiently. "He said he'd been working on a way to suppress his Madness. He said he was close."

"I thought he wasn't supposed to be continuing the research until this witch Pendra was dealt with."

"He wasn't. But he did it anyway."

"Hmm," she murmured disapprovingly.

"Yeah," Maka agreed, nodding her head. "And I don't think I would be so angry about it if he'd said something to me, if I hadn't found out from this journal. If things hadn't turned out like this."

"What did he come up with," Tsubaki stopped her, refocusing the conversation before she could get too gloomy.

"I'm not sure," she trailed off, opening the journal again and fingering through the pages. "I need to take it to Professor Stein. What do you think?"

One pigtail slid over her shoulder as she rotated, handing the journal to Tsubaki and pointing at a diagram. There was a poorly drawn circle with oblong spots in it marked "air pocket inclusions" and an even more poorly drawn person next to it. An arrow labeled "teleport" went from the person to the spots, under which a note was scrawled: "avoid oxidation and clotting." At the bottom of the page he'd listed some properties of quartz including "storage of magical energy" and "conducts wavelength."

"What's piezoelectric," she inquired, eyes flicking up to Maka's intensely green orbs.

"No idea," the blond sighed, deflating. "That's one of the things I need to talk to Professor Stein about. I can't imagine it would be in here if it wasn't important."

"I would agree."

"Near as I can tell, he wants to teleport something from someone into this quartz."

"Well," Tsubaki added cautiously, rotating the picture and tilting her head. "I think that something is blood. See how he mentions clotting? Blood only does that when it's exposed to air, or at least, it's only supposed to do that when it's exposed to air. And I think that someone is you."

"Me?!"

"Yes, I think so. Look, these are your pigtails here… and this is your skirt…"

"You're sure that's supposed to be hair?"

"Mmm, "sure" may be too strong a word."

Maka let out a little giggle before she could stop herself, brushing the drawing with her fingertips, then sobered quickly, blinking back tears.

"It's okay to be upset, you know," Tsubaki soothed, not touching her. "It's okay to need time."

"We don't have time," Maka snapped, her voice sharper than she'd intended.

Grabbing the journal from Tsubaki's hands, she brought it close to her face, squinting as if that would reveal some hidden detail.

"You think this means he wants to put my blood into the pockets in this hypothetical quartz?"

"Not just your blood," Tsubaki said, recovering quickly and reaching in front of her nose to indicate something on the page. "This squiggle here, I think it's a wavelength. He wants to put your soul into the quartz. Though I don't understand how that's supposed to work."

"If the quartz really can store energy and conduct a soul wavelength…" Maka trailed off, squinting harder. Then she gasped, standing up abruptly and startling Tsubaki. "It's not my soul he wants, it's my Anti-Magic Wavelength! Tsubaki, you're brilliant!"

"While I appreciate the compliment, it's Crona who's brilliant."

"I need to get this to Professor Stein. If there's even a chance-"

"Wait, do you maybe want to get dressed first? When was the last time you had anything to eat, or slept for that matter?"

"I'll do that later."

"Maka," she admonished, getting up and following her down the hall. "Go home, just for a little. You have to take care of yourself too."

She paused and made a face, pouting her lips off to one side. Her eyes searched the stone and candles for answers beyond Tsubaki's comprehension. Still, she seemed to get them; a light came into her eyes and her features hardened in determination.

"You're right, I do need to go home. This early Blair should still be there. I need to know if she can teleport blood; if I'm understanding correctly, this entire project hinges on that step."

"That's not exactly what I-"

"Thanks Tsubaki! You've been a huge help," Maka called, waving over her shoulder as she once again took off running.

* * *

They didn't speak on their way to the park, or even look at each other. Soul led the way and Vera trailed behind, watching the cobblestone move by beneath her feet. She knew the way, of course; she'd grown up here. She used to read in the park, nestled under the trees. An obvious place, but none of the persistent boys from her classes ever found her there. So despite the heat, it had been a sanctuary. Perhaps that was what she was seeking now. A place to loose herself, a place to forget. It was still brisk when they arrived, still quiet, and Vera found she was able to breathe. Funny, she hadn't realized she was so tense.

"Thanks," she sighed, moving past Soul to the balcony and leaning against it. "I was going crazy in there."

"Yeah, I got that impression."

She tossed him a dirty look, shivering now that they were standing still. He let out a dry laugh, scratching the back of his head. Then he seemed to come to a decision and pulled off his black jacket.

"Here," he gestured, extending it in her direction.

"No, I'm fine."

"Come on," Soul insisted, coming up behind her and offering the jacket again. "Cool guys don't let girls freeze."

"How chivalrous," she sneered, accepting the jacket nevertheless. Pendra had dressed her to distract, with a low cut halter-top and short skirt. It was a far cry from her usual jeans and hoodie; Soul was right, she was cold.

"So…" he said, leaning next to her with his back to the overlook. "You gonna tell me what that was all about."

"Hmm?"

Evasive. Soul ran his tongue over his sharp teeth, annoyed.

"In the infirmary," he clarified patiently. "You were screaming."

"Why were you there anyway?"

"Remember that time you were going to tell me whatever I wanted to know if I brought you here?"

Vera bit her lip, caught. Her coal black hair fell across her face as she tucked her chin to her chest, looking away from him. A long moment of silence descended in the morning light.

"Maka and I were going to look for Crona this morning," Soul offered with a heavy sigh. "But she wasn't in the apartment when I got up. Got some bug in her head and ran off to who knows where. So I figured I'd look for Crona without her for a little."

"By coming to me? I already said I don't know anything."

"Then why were you screaming?"

"Because…"

"Look, we're going to beat this witch, so don't worry about that."

"You people," Vera scoffed, shaking her head and still refusing to look at him. "You're so _stupid_. Can't you even admit when you've lost? Not just lost, it's like the fucking Strait of Tsushima."

"The… what?"

"The Strait of Tsushima. May 28, 1905, Russo-Japanese War. The Russians tried to cross the T, but the Japanese had developed rotating turrets. So instead six battleships were sunk, seven captured, and another six disarmed, while the Japanese suffered maybe 100 fatalities total. The Russians were so badly out maneuvered it hurts."

"Nice details," Soul grumbled. "You just know all that off the top of your head?"

Vera licked her lips, considering the stone beneath her folded hands.

"Before all of… this, I wanted to become a history professor. That's all I wanted. The past was all I thought about. I guess… it still is. Isn't that funny?"

"Not really. It's not cool to get stuck on the past."

"Is that so," she gave a hollow laugh, her amber eyes catching the sunlight as she tossed back her head. "Maybe you're right."

"People always sound so shocked when they say that. What, cool guys like me can't be right or something?"

This time her laugh was genuine, bell-like and warm. It didn't last long, waning into a chuckle quickly, but still… Suddenly she looked sad- no, heart broken. Brow knit and lips parted, she breathed into the stillness.

"I…" Vera whispered, staring out at the city. "Thank you. I haven't done that in… a long time."

"It wasn't meant to be funny, but you're welcome."

There was a beat where she considered how much to tell him. How honest to be. The sun and the shadows made a stark contrast in the city and in her mind, but it was dawn, not dusk. Shadows could not win, that wasn't their fate. Their time had passed and now truth had to take the stage. Vera felt the morning light warm something deep inside her, something she thought had died, and spoke.

"Frankly, I thought I'd never laugh again. I thought I'd never be happy again, that there was nothing left for me, because I was supposed to die too. That night, I should've been with them- burnt with them. Instead I'd gone to a friend's at the last minute. That fire never touched me, but it ignited the hatred inside me, the only thing that's sustained me all this time. While he's lived a happy life I've been burning and I can't accept that. Or I _couldn't_. Then…"

She let silence come between them again and chewed her lip. Soul watched her, his eyes a critical sort of compassionate. That night, engulfed in the Madness of Black Blood while the walls crumbled around them. He'd never really considered that there were other people there, that the powerless had suffered the consequences of Medusa's attack. For him the entire battle had taken place in the belly of the school. For him it was a happy night because he and Maka had saved someone from a terrible fate. But Vera had been outside and for the first time Soul considered what that meant.

"Tell me," she breathed. "Do you think… Can someone pay for a crime before it's been committed?"

"Are we talking about Crona here," Soul answered slowly. "Or you?"

"What?!"

Vera turned to look at him, her amber eyes sharp through the curtain of black hair she didn't bother to push from her face.

"You fed Pendra information, put the centipedes in my bag and inside Crona, even told her when Maka and I were leaving the city I think. We're in this situation now because of you."

"I was being controlled," she hissed indignantly. "It wasn't my choice. I didn't _want_ to do any of those things."

"Neither did Crona," Soul said calmly, meeting her gaze with his crimson stare. "Medusa controlled him just as completely as Pendra controlled you. Maybe even more so. I don't blame you for what you did, so why do you blame Crona? Why won't you help us save him?"

"I didn't think I could," she answered honestly. "I didn't think there was anything I could do."

"And now?"

Looking back towards the city, Vera sighed heavily through her nose and pursed her lips. When she'd woken up this morning she'd been the same girl Pendra had found hiding in the dark pool of stagnate despair. Nothing she did could change her circumstance, so why do anything at all? As before the witch had pulled her from that state and played her like an instrument, used her, made her an informant. That her would've just delivered the message obediently, just done as she was told because the consequences for disobedience were unimaginably grotesque. But Pendra had made a mistake: she'd shown Vera Crona's fear. She'd told her of his past, of how similar they turned out to be. Tools in a game she'd never wanted to play. And that made her… angry. Vera hadn't been raised to be a pawn. Her features set in determination.

"Now? Now I think I understand," she said slowly. "When this began I wanted to hurt Crona, to make him suffer, and that's how she controlled me. Even so, I did get him into this. Now I have to do whatever I can to get him out of it, even if I don't want to. Even if it scares me, I have to do it anyway."

"What are you getting at," Soul asked cautiously.

Vera turned to face him fully, combing her coal black hair from her face with her fingers. Her eyes were hard.

"You wanted to know why I was screaming, and I didn't want to tell you because… But the truth is that I was screaming because Pendra visited me. She tore my astral form from my body and took me to her lab, where she's keeping Crona."

"Is he alright?"

Soul moved closer to her, urgency making his voice sharp. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"No. Not at all. She's aerosolized the magical proteins from her blood, the ones she's been using to control Crona, so she can delivery them directly into his blood through his lungs. There's no getting away from that. After a few days, she says he won't have any resistance to her at all."

"Then we have to find him first! You've been to the lab, you know where it is."

"No, I don't. I don't remember. But I think I know a way to find out. Come on, let's go see your Professor Stein. It's time to try something different."


	31. Chapter 31

Professor Stein was a little unsettled by Maka's glare, which spoke volumes considering what it took to shake him. Yet her eyes, vividly green and rimmed by swollen red lids, accented by bruise-like bags that bled from the side of her nose and pooled in the hollows of her ocular orbits, were doing just that. The intensity that always smoldered within had burst into flame, crazed yet focused, making the chiseled edges of her exhausted face sharp. How much control, he wondered, did she have over the emotions boiling within? What toxic foam was overflowing in her chest, driving her forward like a barely contained wild fire? And why had she burst into his home at five in the morning with a little black book in one hand and a practically naked magical cat in the other.

"What's this about," he asked in a low, reedy tone, pulling a cigarette from one pocket and a lighter from the other.

"Blair doesn't know," whined the cat, rubbing one large eye with the back of her hand and yawning dramatically. "Blair just wants to go back to sleep…"

"Well Blair can't," snarled Maka, as if the two had been having this conversation for a while now and it had been abrading her already frayed nerves.

"But Blair is tired! And there's work in the morning-"

"I don't care!"

"What is this about," Stein repeated, emphasizing his words more forcefully.

"Crona, what else? It's about Crona."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No-"

"Do you know how to find him?"

"No, but-"

"Then what?"

"Will you shut up and let me finish!"

Maka spat out the words, then flushed a deep red. Normally she would never address a professor in such a manner. But things were not normal… Recovering quickly, she released Blair and opened the little black book, brandishing it in Stein's direction. He recognized the artistry quickly; these were Crona's notes.

"What do you make of this," she demanded.

Wordlessly he moved towards her, sliding the cigarette between his lips and plucking the journal delicately from Maka's grasp. He flipped through the surrounding pages but, finding nothing more of immediate interest, returned to the diagram. Holding the book in one hand, he inhaled deeply and released a stream of smoke out one side of his mouth. Maka grew impatient.

"Crona was working on a way to contain the Madness, by teleporting my Anti-Magic Wavelength into some quartz. That's why I brought Blair, because she can teleport objects."

"Not living things," Blair corrected, her own irritation coming through.

"If I'm reading this correctly," mumbled Stein, squinting. "There's no need to teleport something living. Not exactly. Assuming Crona is correct in his assessment that a soul wavelength can be contained in blood."

"What do you mean "assuming?" You don't know?!"

"No, I don't. He didn't learn that with me. Though I was not his only teacher, was I."

"Medusa," Maka whispered, her tone conflicted about whether it wanted to be horrified or scathing.

"She was a respectable scientist," Stein chided, taking another long drag and exhaling more smoke. "And such a hypothesis would help explain how Crona is able to control blood that is outside of his body."

"Never mind that. Will it work?"

"I don't know. I'll need some time to look through these plans and construct the device, though it seems Crona gave it a lot of thought. Still, we won't know for sure until we test it and we cannot test it until we find Crona."

"We might be able to help with that," said a voice from the door, drawing the room's attention.

Vera stood in the open frame, her amber eyes fierce even as she gripped Soul's jacket around her shoulders like armor. The scythe was behind her, looking casually cool… at least until he saw Blair. One look at her sheer nightgown and the very obvious, very cold breasts underneath and he had to turn away, trying to contain the blood that burst forth from his nose.

"Really," Vera reproached, sounding disgusted and giving him a very unimpressed face.

"It's not my fault! Who goes out in public looking like that?"

"Blair was just sleeping-"

"How," Maka cut off the banter sharply. "How can you help? Unless you've miraculously "remembered" something useful."

"I don't remember where Pendra is if that's what you're asking," snubbed Vera, tucking her chin to her chest and redirecting her displeasure.

"Then what!"

"I…" she trailed off, biting her lower lip and consulting the base of the far wall.

"What's this about Soul," demanded Maka, growing increasingly annoyed. "Why did you bring _her_ here?"

" _I_ brought _him_ here," Vera bit before Soul could do more than open his mouth. " _I_ brought _him_ here because… oh fuck- because Pendra visited me this morning!"

In the night there's a layer of moisture that insulates the world, and when the sun comes up that water evaporates. The result is that it may be darkest before dawn, but it's coldest just after. That's what the silence was like, frigid and bright. Vera gripped Soul's jacket, trembling imperceptibly beneath it as the memory blinded her. Saying it had made it real again; saying it made it true. Yet she held her ground against the glares of shock and rage, amber eyes flicking up to meet the waves of green.

"She what," Maka growled into the stillness, her voice desiccating, leaving a void that had to be filled.

"Pendra is… not the strongest witch… at least, not in a combative sense. But she has one defining ability."

"Astral projection. Yes, I know."

"Did you also know that she can rip your astral self right out of you? She can take you anywhere, show you anything, then send you back to your body? No spiritual vulnerability required."

"So," inserted Professor Stein before Maka could come up with a caustic retort. "It would be more accurate to say that you "visited" Pendra."

"I saw where she's hiding," said Vera slowly, licking her lips nervously. "I saw…"

Maka sidestepped Blair and advanced on Vera, grasping her by the shoulders. Soul came up beside them and placed a concerned hand on Maka's forearm, but all she did was squeeze. Still, Vera winced, dropping her gaze and gritting her teeth.

"Is he okay," Maka breathed in a low, firm voice, as if she were afraid of the question but confronting it anyway.

Silence. A stillness everyone feared to break because it was the only thing holding time at bay. And if time kept moving, if time continued, then…

"No," Vera whispered, shaking her head and raising her eyes.

Maka paled when she saw what was in those eyes: sympathy, memory, fear. All the vulnerability Vera had been so desperately trying to hide. The puckered and swollen wounds of victimization. And coating it all like a varnish, certainty. She clung to the girl as that certainty penetrated her, swirling in her stomach, darkening her senses, and draining the hope that had kept her standing. She teetered.

"If the witch is planning to control Crona using centipedes, that would be a miscalculation on her part," rationalized Stein, his words a little indistinct owing to the cigarette between his lips. "His immune system should eventually clear such an apparatus."

"Pendra knows that," Vera sighed, reaching up to support Maka by cupping her elbows. "She's got him breathing magical proteins until his body becomes accustomed to their presence, like with Medusa's. You can't bank on his immune response."

"Is that why you're here? To tell us it's pointless," Maka tried to snarl, but her words lacked conviction and came out mostly sad.

"No," Vera insisted, setting her jaw. "I have no idea how you're going to get Crona back, that's your problem. I'm sure you'll figure something out, but that's not why I had Soul bring me here."

"Then what."

Sighing heavily through her nose, Vera pulled away from Maka and moved towards the closest window. Maka stumbled, but Soul caught her, supporting her with an arm around her waist. Outside the sun was fully above the horizon and beginning to warm the sand. All the night creatures had scurried to shelter and the cactus flowers had closed. It was a hard landscape, pragmatic, a place where everything did what had to be done to survive. Regardless of how unpleasant.

"1897 England, an Irish writer Bram Stoker published the first widely known piece of vampire fiction, _Dracula_. Near the end, Dracula connects himself to Mina Harker by making her drink his blood, establishing a telepathic link. He uses this to spy on the main characters, peering through Mina's eyes."

"Why would you read a book when there are so many movies," complained Blair, grumpy that she still had to be there.

"Because this part isn't in most of the movies," snapped Vera, shooting her a disapproving look over her shoulder. "You don't wanna listen then do something productive like putting on some god damn cloths."

"Anyway…" redirected Soul gravely, though his lips twitched at the antics.

" _Anyway_ , it backfires. Van Helsing hypnotizes Mina and she's able to see through Dracula's eyes and track him down. Then they kill him and Mina being cursed isn't a problem anymore. Get what I'm saying?"

"I stopped listening," pouted Blair, yawning widely and blinking her large, cat eyes.

"Astral projection is not telepathy," Stein said. "Assuming you're even capable, your mind could get lost or trapped. You might never wake up."

"It's happening anyway! It happened this morning! At least if we're the ones at the wheel it can be useful!"

"So long as you are at this academy your safety is our responsibility. This has too many variables; I won't allow it."

"I am not asking for your permission," she snarled, turning to face him with balled fists and wild eyes.

"Just my help," the professor answered calmly, though his own olive eyes flashed. "I've already lost one student to negligence, I will not loose someone else to recklessness."

"It's not reckless! It's necessary!"

"Why the sudden urge to help Crona? Last we spoke you were less than motivated to do so."

"Last we spoke there was nothing I could do. Now there is. Besides…" she trailed off, looking at Maka. "Part of me will always be a victim, a victim of circumstance, a victim of evil, but I'm through letting that be the only thing I am. I have a choice now and I am choosing to act."

"That's admirable. Your plan is still reckless."

"Do you have a better one?"

"Not at the-"

"Then I'm doing it. Sure, I could've used your help, but I don't need it. This was never about getting your blessing. You should get on whatever witchcraft Crona was working on so that when I find him, you can fix him."

Vera turned so sharply her hair seemed to levitate for a moment before settling across her face and around her shoulders. She gave her head a jerk to get it out of her eyes and plowed out the door, face set in annoyed determination. Soul looked down at Maka, who he was still holding, and together they nodded.

"Let me know when you're ready for my blood," Maka called over her shoulder as she and her weapon partner followed suit, closing the door behind them with a defiant click.

"These kids," lamented Stein with a small smile, shaking his head.

Yet his olive eyes were hard and devoid of amusement. Conflicted. The professor in him told him to pursue them, to stop them before they hurt themselves anymore. The scientist wanted to see what would happen. It was dangerous to allow them to continue, assuming they could achieve any success. If Vera couldn't astral project herself the way she thought was possible, then their endeavor would be harmless and their efforts would be fruitless. The probability of her actually being able to do it was low… maybe the scientist was right. At least the three would be occupied within the city, not out scouring the desert. So really letting them go now was the safer option. It was only dangerous if they accomplished their goal, otherwise it was just a measure to keep them busy while he worked. This schematic of Crona's had promise, though modifications would no doubt be necessary. After a few seconds of computing Stein decided on his course of action.

"Blair," he said coolly. "Why don't you call the Chupa Cabra's and tell them you're helping me today. I shall require your _other_ expertise. I'll go get something of Marie's before she sees you and then we can get started."

* * *

It was a bitter battle between going to the library to do some preliminary research and just jumping right into it with what they knew from pop culture. So they compromised and jumped right into it. Then went to the library, then back to Soul and Maka's apartment, then back to the library and back to the apartment. Hours turned into a day turned into two and still nothing. No matter what we do, it seems time is never on our side.

"How, exactly, are you managing to make breathing so difficult," chastised Maka, staring daggers at Vera from across the table.

"If it was just breathing I'd have done it by now," she shot back, combing her hair out of her face with her fingers and looking irritated when it promptly fell right back over her eyes.

"It says personal issues can be a barrier and should be addressed before trying to reach the astral plane…" Soul read from one of the three books they'd managed to find that addressed the subject.

"Personal issues," repeated Vera, narrowing her eyes and making a very unimpressed face. "You mean like being fucking kidnapped and mind controlled until near death? Those kinds of issues?"

"Maybe… do you want to talk about it," he offered in a tone that suggested he really hoped she didn't.

"No! I want to kill the witch who did this to me!"

"Don't yell at him!"

"Ladies! Come on, fighting now isn't cool. Maybe we should take a breather."

"I've been breathing for days!"

"How do you even know you can astral project," spat Maka, snapping the book she'd been consulting closed and glaring. "You said this was how we find Crona but so far it's just been a waste of time we don't have."

" _I'm trying!_ I know I can do this; I can feel my… self, I don't know, like it's loose inside me. Like I've got my feet dangling in the pool, but every time I try to push off it turns to ice."

"Wait," Soul cut in, holding up one hand to still the conversation and tracing the text with another. "Go back to that. You said it feels like you almost have it, then can't?"

"Yes…" Vera elongated the word and bobbed her head. "It's like it doesn't matter how much I relax or breathe or any of that shit because there's this wall that jumps up at the last minute."

"Maybe you don't actually want to help Crona," Maka accused, folding her arms.

"If I didn't want to help then I wouldn't be here! I'm just-"

"Scared," finished Soul, causing silence to settle like dust on the table.

Vera slid her jaw off to the left and bit her lip looking pointedly at the wall. Soul turned the book towards her anyway and pointed to a paragraph at the top of the page. Though Vera refused to look at it, Maka craned her neck and squinted.

"I don't want to go back there," Vera admitted after an eternity. "I don't want to _get lost_ there, but that's what it feels like, oblivion. I need a tether, something more than the metronome that I can focus on. That's my intuition."

"What the hell does that even-" Maka stopped suddenly, an idea gestating in her eyes.

Without finishing her sentence, she stood up and moved quickly to her room. There were noises like books being shuffled around and inspected which went on for what felt like minutes. Finally, she emerged carrying a great tome with "Poe" written on the spine. She set it down tenderly on the table top and opened it, running a finger down the table of contents. Vera and Soul watched with interest but did not comment, allowing her to complete whatever task to which she'd assigned herself in silence.

"Here," she said after a long pause, gingerly turning the pages to a place maybe two hundred pages in. "This is it. Let's try this."

The other two leaned forwards and inspected the text, frowning at it as if that would help them understand what she was getting at. There was a lot of white space through which an oscillating column of text cut, wide then narrow then wide, down the center. Large text formed words crowned by even larger text at the top.

"The Bells," Vera read, tilting her head and making a face that indicated she expected the ink to change form with the new angle.

"Yes, Edgar Allan Poe's _The Bells_ ," Maka clarified, impatience making her voice sharp. "The books say rhythm is important to establish the trance like mindset required to astral project, but you're saying you need something else to focus on. Well, this poem is like a metronome but with words. You can focus on those words."

"So your solution is… poetry," Vera sighed, not sounding impressed.

"Do you have a better plan?!"

"Lets just try it," interjected Soul, closing the book that lay open in front of him with a decisive note and giving Vera a hopeful look. "Lets try it. We'll read it, I don't know, five times and then you're done. You focus on that, and on finding Crona, and when it's done it's done."

"Fine..." Vera grumbled, folding her arms and looking sullenly over at the couch.

"Fine," repeated Maka, grabbing the book and settling herself on the coffee table, resting it in her lap possessively and gesturing to the cushions.

"Fine," Vera snapped after an expectant silence, pushing out of her chair and laying down on the couch, fidgeting briefly. "Five times through."

"Hear the sledges with the bells-" Maka started, speaking in a quick but clear, rhythmic voice.

 _Silver bells!_

 _What a world of merriment their melody foretells!_

 _How they tickle, tickle, tickle,_

 _In the icy air of night!_

 _While the stars that oversprinkle_

 _All the heavens, seem to twinkle_

 _With a crystalline delight;_

For the thousandth time, Vera breathed, pushing everything else from her mind except the sound of Maka's voice. She let her body feel limp and numb, focused on the sensation of blood rushing through it before that, too, became a numbness. Because her body wasn't where she needed to be; she needed to leave it. Separate. Go to the place where Crona was. The place she had been a catharsis ago. The place where Crona was…

 _Keeping time, time, time,_

 _In a sort of Runic rhyme,_

 _To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells_

And this time the swirling colors behind her eyelids solidified into a world outside herself. Vera kept breathing, yet the sensation of breathing left her. Ribs continued to expand and contract, the diaphragm flexed and relaxed, she knew it was happening. The her she was right now just didn't need to be concerned with such things.

 _From the bells, bells, bells, bells,_

Maka's voice distorted, slowing, dropping in pitch until it became a low rumble.

 _Bells… bells… bells…_

The bells… she could hear them. Not silver, iron, harsh and cold. Fatalistic. Cracking her eyes and expecting to see Maka and Soul, once again, standing over her and staring hopefully, she instead blinked in surprise. Neither weapon nor meister was there; she wasn't even in their apartment anymore. Nor was she lying down. Vera stood on the stone steps of a massive gothic church, staring into tall wooden doors as a single bell rang overhead. Echoing into the void that surrounded them. Knowledge welled up inside her, or perhaps it was intuition masquerading as knowledge. Almost without her conscious consent, she raised a hand and the doors opened. Inside there was a single figure, standing before the stained glass like another gargoyle sentry. And she knew. This was it; this was the place. Not a real place, but the place where Crona was.

"Those doors," he whispered, staring wide eyed straight ahead. "They only open inward…"

"Crona," she asked slowly, advancing. Cautiously. "Crona is that… you?"

"Yes," he answered, shivering. "And no…"

"What's that supposed to mean," Vera said before she'd had a chance to make her voice gentle. "Where are we?"

"Santa Mario Novella Basilica- no… No, this isn't real. I'm waiting for Maka, so I came here, but I didn't. Maka won't come here either- Maka can't. This isn't Santa Mario Novella Basilica. This is the place she keeps us."

"You're not making any sense. Crona, listen, I need you to tell me where we are- where you are."

"You know where I am," he said in an accusatory tone, looking over his shoulder with haunting eyes. "You know where we are now. This is the place _**she**_ keeps us."

Vera felt her stomach clench and the blood drain from her face. Desperately, she looked behind her, back into the void, and felt it reach out to devour what had stupidly strayed too close.

 _What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!_

 _In the startled air of night_

 _How they scream out their affright!_

 _Too much horrified to speak,_

 _They can only shriek, shriek,_

 _Out of tune,_

Maka's voice rippled through the darkness, a lifeline made of breath, but Vera pulled away from it, turning her attention back to Crona. He was facing her fully now, face vacant and tired. For a moment she thought he was just going to stare, then his lips moved and his voice came back into focus.

"Why did you come back here? Didn't you get what you wanted?"

"I never wanted this," Vera snapped defensively, balling her fists. "I never wanted _this_ for anybody! I never- but you ended up here anyway. And I'm sorry."

Crona blinked at her and nothing more. Licking her lips, she decided to press. There was only so much time left.

"Listen, you need to tell me where you are physically. You're friends, they're looking for you, but they need help."

"My friends," he repeated slowly. "I don't have any. None of that is real. I'm not real."

"What? That doesn't- of course you're real!"

"That's not going to work. Did she send you here, to this closed off corner of an astral plane where she keeps us? Are you a test? Or did she send you? An apology? It doesn't matter because I'm not a person. I tried to be, I tried to have friends and to be loved, but I-"

Crona broke off, looking down as if to search for words on the floor. Confusion came into his features, mild at first, then working into a crisis.

"A tool. That's what I tried not to be and that's what I am. A witch's tool, a creature designed for destruction and not a person at all. I understand. I understand."

"That's not true, that's just what Pendra wants you to think! I know what it's like to have her in your head, destroying you, using you, but you have to fight her! You're friends are coming for you-"

"Don't tell me about my friends," he screamed suddenly. "They're afraid of me, they locked me up! They'll hunt me- kill me, just for being what I am! I have to be what I am! I don't have a choice!"

"Don't give me that crap," Vera spat back, loosing her temper. "Those people are bending over backwards! Hell, _I'm_ bending over backwards to save you! You think I wanted to come here? You think I'm having fun with this?"

"Go away," he sobbed, pressing his eyes into his palms and curling his finger in his pink hair. "I can't- I can't."

"I know what it feels like to have Pendra in your head," she tried, softer now, maintaining the distance between them nevertheless. "Telling you who you are and what you feel, forcing it into you, but that skin she creates for you to ware, that's what isn't real. I wanted you to be a monster, _believe me_ I did, but you're not! You're a person Crona and you've got to hold out for just a little longer!"

"Who are you," Crona whispered as he cried into his hands. "To tell me what's real? You, my victim and my assassin. Who are you to come to me now with hope? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I was wrong about you. How many times do you want me to say it? I was wrong! Damn it Crona, pull yourself together! Tell me where you are so we can come get you! Stein is working on those designs from your notebook. You're going to be okay! Just tell me where you are, please!"

"My… journal," he asked, peering at her through his fingers with swollen, storm cloud eyes. "My solution? Then there's-"

His breath caught in his throat with a small choking noise, his head snapping up in response to a sudden and disturbing sensation. Vera felt it too, like a damp, cold presence had entered the room. Like memory's fingers running up her spine and curling around her neck. Amber and ice blue eyes went wide. Fear curdled their blood. And Pendra's voice reverberated in their bones.

"Don't fight me. Give in. Obedience will make you whole. You're a tool and you belong to me. A monster, not a person, neither male nor female nor human. A witch's creation. Be what you are, do what you were designed to do."

"Don't listen," Vera tried to say, but only air rasped over her suddenly dry tongue. "Don't listen to her!"

 _Hear the tolling of the bells-_

 _Iron bells!_

 _What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!_

 _In the silence of the night,_

 _How we shiver with affright_

 _At the melancholy menace of their tone!_

All around them the church began to run and swirl like paint in water, dissolving into the void outside. The devouring void of inky darkness, thick and viscous. And seething and squirming. Blackness glinted and red legs flashed as an eternity of centipedes came into focus. This world was made of them, not a void at all, a dense prison of millions of legs and pincers. They crawled up Crona's robe and curled around his joints, around his wrists and around his neck, making nests in his hair. He relaxed into it, wincing only a little as one burrowed into his ear. She watched it take effect.

"I have no will. I cannot resist. I was made to be used," Crona muttered with Pendra's voice, dropping his hands back to his sides and looking straight ahead once more.

Vera felt it too, the pull, the sharp chitinous legs cutting into her brain. Opening her up and stuffing the witch's thrall inside. Her head was heavy on her shoulders, her skull compressing. Pendra's voice was loud, so loud, and it was everything. Everything…

"No…" she moaned, pressing her hands over her ears as the centipedes began to climb her legs. "No… No, no, no… No!"

 _To the rolling of the bells-_

 _Of the bells, bells, bells-_

 _To the tolling of the bells-_

 _Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-_

 _Bells, bells, bells-_

 _To the moaning and the groaning of the bells._

"Vera! Vera wake up! That's five, it's over, now come back! Vera!"

Hands on her shoulders, shaking her. Hot breath in her face as someone yelled. A man's voice. She didn't realize she was screaming until her throat started to hurt, her eyes snapping open. A crimson stare met her, concerned and intense like the sun through smoke, and without thinking anything beyond that she flung herself into those eyes. Vera threw her arms around Soul's neck and buried her face into his shoulder as sobs replaced screams. He hesitated for a moment, then encircled her, rubbing her back as she cried. Green met crimson as his eyes slid to Maka, who was still sitting on the table, book open in her lap, lips parted in shock and fear. He could tell she wanted to say something and shook his head, cutting her off. Vera spoke anyway.

"She has him, oh god she has him! And she's inside him, like she was inside me! I tried, I tried to reach him, but-" she blubbered into Soul's shoulder, her fingernails white from gripping him too hard. "It's that place! That… hell dimension she stashes your mind while she uses your body! I never wanted to go back there but that's where he is! That's where he is…"

"It's okay," Soul soothed, his voice rumbling against her chest. "You're okay. You're safe."

"No it's not! No I'm not! Don't you understand, she has him! She's _gutting_ him! Then she'll send him… out, to us… and he'll come back but he'll be all wrong… And we won't be able to stop him…"

"We've stopped him before," hissed Maka, closing the book and standing. "We're not going to let this happen- _I'm_ not going to just _let_ this happen."

With that she turned and moved decisively to the door.

"Maka, what are you-" Soul started, still cradling the sobbing Vera, but she cut him off.

"You two keep at this. I'm going to Professor Stein's; he has to need my blood by now. I don't know what I can do, but I have to _do something_! I have to- If you find him we need to be ready and if he finds us then we need to be ready. I won't let that witch have him. I'll beat him back to his original self if that's what it takes!"

She took a long breath as if to calm herself down, tossed a fiery look over her shoulder at Soul and Vera, then left them without further ceremony.

"Isn't she… even a little afraid," asked Vera in a small voice, as if to minimize the disturbance she was causing to the silence Maka had left in her wake.

"Oh yeah she's afraid," answered Soul, equally quiet. "She's terrified. But that's how she gets stronger. That's how we all have to get stronger."

"I don't feel strong. I'm scared… I'm so fucking scared… I don't know if I can-"

"Good. That fear keeps you focused. If you want to give up I get it, and I won't hold it against you. Still, there's no scenario where you're not afraid, that's just life. If you want to accept that and keep trying, then I'll stay here with you. It's you're call."

Vera felt that she should let go of Soul, that she should be able to stand on her own. Yet she couldn't do it. Her fingers wouldn't uncoil and her face would not be removed from his shoulder. Tremors continued to shoot through her body and even though her voice was steady tears leaked from her eyes. This fear, this vulnerability she'd wanted so desperately to shed gnawed at her, and in her core she knew it wasn't going away. So long as that witch continued to hurt people, to make more and more victims, that fear would haunt Vera. This wasn't something she could run away from; maybe that was what Soul meant by getting stronger. Besides, if she was so intimately familiar with Crona's pain and still chose not to help him, what kind of person did that make her? She had a choice, but not really. Sniffing, she came to a conclusion.

"Don't leave me," she whispered. "Don't make me face this by myself. Don't let me be alone anymore. Stay with me, just for today, and tomorrow we'll look for Crona again. Deal?"

A chuckle rumbled in Soul's chest.

"That all? A cool guy like me can easily handle something like that. Alright, deal."


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note, AKA, Why this took so damn long, a brief story: Thesis writing, thesis defense, thesis formatting to be submitted to the graduate school (which was infinitely more painful than the writing and defense combined), graduation, unemployment, crippling anxiety and depression associated with job applications such that I couldn't open my lap top for any reason without crying and feeling sick, lots and lots of crying and applying to jobs anyway, hearing back from someone after months of silence, validation in the form of a pleasant job interview, lessened anxiety and depression, ability to finish chapter returned. Still no job, but I do feel better, at least for now. Hopefully a few of you dear readers are still around to enjoy the update! I don't know that it's my best and it was chiseled out maybe 20 lines at a time over all these months, but I figured it was still better than nothing. Sometimes one must abide by the "good enough" principle. Anyway, thank you all for your understanding and for sticking it out with me! I anticipate wrapping this up in the next two chapters with a short epilogue, then on to the next thing!**

* * *

There was something missing, something that was supposed to be filling the silence. A sound, rhythmic and soothing, to which she'd grown accustomed. The sound of waves lapping a sandy shore. Despite the lack of water, despite the lack of any evidence that there had ever been water, Maka knew there was supposed to be waves. She could hear them echoing in her mind, like a mirage caused by the unyielding heat. Like a memory or an unfulfilled sense of déjà vu. Even though only silence engulfed her, even though the stillness was overwhelming, she felt in her core that there was supposed to be waves.

For what seemed to be an eternity she just stood there, contemplating the bizarre lack of an ocean as if that was stranger than finding oneself alone in the desert to begin with. Consumed by the absence of what she _knew_ should've been there. Until another thought emerged: where was here? Why did she know this place at all? Or at least, why did she believe she knew this place. It wasn't until that crossed her mind that she truly saw her surroundings, the endless sand and lifeless sun, the void of it all. The black figure standing before her, pink hair limp across wide, ice blue eyes. Expressionless. And she understood where she was.

"Crona," she called uncertainly, taking a tentative step towards him.

He shivered at the sound of her voice, pulling back and evaluating her with haunting eyes. There was recognition in his face, but also caution, as if he expected her to attack. Maka frowned, halting her advance as the same sense of imminent conflict twisted her own insides. Silence like a pane of glass came between them. Heat shimmered in the air.

"Crona," she tried again, barely breathing the name.

"Why did you come here," he asked, his voice plaintive. "What do you want from me?"

"I- I came for you. I came to save you, to bring you home."

"I don't believe you…"

Maka winced at his words as though they physically hurt, withdrawing half a step. He continued, unaffected by her pain.

"I think you came to stop me. I think you came to change me. You can't do either, so why?"

"What do you mean stop you? Crona I- I miss you! I don't care about anything else!"

"She's lying," whispered another voice like a cold draft, causing them both the shutter. "You know she's lying. You know what she is and you know what you are. A witch killer and a witch's creation can never coexist; they are destined to kill each other."

A hand slid over Crona's shoulder and down his chest while another wrapped long, dark fingers around his neck with the jingle of brass bracelets. Garnet eyes materialized behind him, framed by dark curls and accented by malice. Full lips pressed against his jaw briefly before white teeth raked across his earlobe. Crona resisted none of it, leaning back into the witch and letting his eyes close. The violation made Maka feel nauseous. Her body lurched, intent on physically tearing the witch's hands from his skin, but that was the extent of it. Paralysis crushed her.

"It's not true," she whispered, shaking her head and balling her fists.

"Kill her first," Pendra continued, whispering into Crona's ear. "Do it and fulfill your purpose."

"But…"

Crona cracked his eyes and looked at Maka reluctantly, torn, and she looked back imploringly. That was all she could do, stare at him with so much intensity that he tensed, pulling away from the witch just a little. Pendra frowned, moving her hands to his shoulders and turning Crona to face her, pressing her lips to his, hard. Her fingers ran through his hair and down the back of his neck, holding their faces together with one hand. The other traced his back and hips, then pulled away. A long stick materialized in her palm and, without surrendering Crona's lips, she pressed it into his limp hand. He hesitated, then his fingers curled around the wood. Maka cried out in protest, but was ignored. Again she strained against the force that held her to the sand, cursing when she failed to overcome it. Finally Pendra pulled away, taking Crona's shoulders once again and turning him to face Maka.

"Remember how easy it was? How simple? It can be that way again," she cooed, locking eyes with Maka and smirking. "I'll make you that way again. Just do this tiny thing first."

"I… can't," breathed Crona, staring at Maka hopelessly.

"Yes you can," Pendra giggled, hands spreading possessively across his chest as she rested her chin in the curve between his neck and shoulder. "You know what you need to do."

"No don't Crona," Maka yelled. "Please! I'm begging you! Come back with me! Let's just go home together!"

"I can't do that either… I can't go back, not like I am, and I can't change, so…"

Growing impatient, Pendra frowned, taking Crona's hand in hers and pressing the stick's end into the sand. Still he didn't resist her and together they drew a line.

Maka gasped, jerking into wakefulness. She would've fallen off the couch except she redirected the energy, kicking the blankets from her legs and standing in a single, fluid motion. Thus, before she knew who, what, when, where, or how the enemy had emerged, she was ready for it. It took another moment for her to realize there was no enemy to prepare for, not here at any rate. Or maybe it was that she couldn't prepare correctly…

"Easy," soothed Marie, setting a steaming mug of black liquid on the table before her with one hand and extending the other like a peace offering. "You're alright."

"No I'm not," she sighed, dejected, throwing herself back onto the cushions and brushing stray hair and sleep from her eyes. "Nothing's alright."

Marie pursed her lips and frowned, her usually optimistic nature clashing uncomfortably with the irrefutable truth of the situation. So instead she disappeared back into the kitchen, reemerging a second later with a miniature pitcher filled with cream, a crystal bowl brimming with sugar cubes, and a tiny set of tongs. Decisively, she placed these next to the mug and gave Maka a haughty look.

"I'm afraid I don't know how you take your coffee."

"Coffee," Maka clarified, rubbing her hands over her face again. "What time is it?"

"Roughly 3:30 in the morning. You only dozed off maybe an hour ago; I was hoping you'd sleep more, but… well, I thought coffee might be more comforting."

Emerald eyes cut sharply to the Death Scythe and were met by a single golden orb. Marie stared back at her knowingly and Maka wilted, clenching her hands into fists and pressing them into her lap. Sighing through her nose, she settled in the chair across from the young meister.

"I'm more of a tea drinker myself, but I've seen you and your friends at the Deathbucks often enough to guess you prefer something stronger."

"Where's Professor Stein," Maka cut through the small talk, staring intently at the table.

"The same place he was the last time you asked that question: in the lab with Blaire," Marie answered shortly, her own patience wearing thin. "If you don't like coffee then just say so, but don't let it get cold."

Maka chewed her tongue, staring intently at the black liquid. Well, it wasn't actually black, more of a dark brow. And thin. She'd seen a liquid that was truly black and it was all she could think about. Marie was trying to be kind, she appreciated that, but it just didn't feel like the time for kindness. If felt like the time for action and as a result all the inaction was eating her up inside. There was a rustle of cloth as Marie readjusted and Maka chanced a quick look. Thinking herself unobserved, the Death Scythe looked… terribly sad. The kind of simmering, angry sadness begotten by powerlessness. And Maka realized now was exactly the time for kindness.

"I'm sorry. Thank you," she said after the uncomfortably long silence, leaning forward and using the delicate tongs to place one sugar cube into the still steaming liquid. "I like it black with a little sugar. Do you have something I can stir with?"

"What? Oh!"

Marie blanched, horrified by her oversight, and sprang back up. There was the sound of drawers being opened and closed and silverware being tossed about, then Marie reemerged, grasping an ornate silver spoon about the size of her index finger. Smiling a ghost of a smile, Maka accepted it.

"It's so small," she commented, careful not to touch the sides of the mug as she stirred. "It's cute."

"I found a set when I was on a mission in England before I became a Death Scythe and thought the very same thing."

"You shopped while you were on missions?"

"I'm the reason we have rules against shopping while on missions," Marie said with a wry smile.

"I see," Maka almost giggled, but caught herself. "Aren't you going to have any coffee?"

"I suppose I probably should," she sighed, standing yet again. "Since this is turning out to be a long night."

"What are you doing up, anyway? If I may ask."

"Oh, the same as you," Marie called from the kitchen. "Waiting to be needed."

"Sounds about right," muttered Maka, taking a sip. It wasn't phenomenal coffee, but desperate times and all; she could make due. "Any word on when that might be?"

"Could be minutes, could be days," she said, settling herself in the chair for the third time and going for the cream. "Franken had no luck finding a natural quartz with both sufficient purity and air pockets, so he and Blair are trying to make air pockets in the crystals he already has."

She took a sip of coffee and glowered.

"I do hope that cat is keeping her cloths on."

"With Blair it could go either way. She is a cat; sometimes she's very professional and others she thinks better naked."

"Well, they say a good marriage is built on trust," Marie grumbled. "But that doesn't mean I have to like leaving my soon to be husband alone with someone like Blaire."

"I doubt Professor Stein has any interest in her beyond dissection."

"He best not!"

The conversation again dry, the two just sat there, silently drinking coffee. Maka didn't want to talk about her nightmare and Marie didn't ask, so the silence was generally comfortable too. It was nice, just for a moment. They both jumped when the door to the lab opened.

"Oh good," Professor Stein's voice drawled. "You're awake."

"Good morning dear," Marie answered instinctively, standing again and moving to her fiancé's side to give him a peck on the cheek. "There's coffee."

"Yes, I can smell it. Is it the dark roast?"

"I made the blond this particular morning; they say it has more caffeine."

"Beautiful and wise."

"Have you made any progress," Maka cut in, burying her irritation as best she could.

"Coffee first," Stein answered, pressing his lips into Marie's hair briefly before initiating his quest.

"Blaire has made progress," the cat preened, emerging from the lab and looking particularly disgruntled. "Blaire has teleported the core of the quartz out without imploding the crystal. It was very hard and Blaire is going home now."

"We still have to get Maka's blood into the vacuum. Then you can go home."

Hissing at the idea, Blaire trotted over to the table, jumped onto it, and put her face in the cream pitcher. Clearing her throat, Maka made a move to push the cat away, but Blaire was faster, scratching the back of her hand and hissing again.

"Ow, hey!"

"Don't be too hard on Blaire," admonished Stein. "She has been working diligently."

"So you're ready for my blood then," Maka asked after a moment, unable to bring herself to continue talking about Blaire's virtues.

"The quartz has been prepared, yes," he said slowly. "But are you sure you're ready to give it?"

"What are you implying!"

"It's not going to be easy for Blaire to teleport your blood," glowered the cat, licking cream from her whiskers. "Blood moves very fast, Blaire can't keep up with it, so Blaire will need to open a portal inside you."

"We have tested this methodology," reassured the professor. "The portal will link the vacuum inside the crystal with the interior of your cephalic vein. Blood will be drawn naturally into the space, but you will need to keep exceptionally still."

"And it'll hurt," Blaire added helpfully.

"I don't care about that," snapped Maka, gritting her teeth. "I want this done. Now."

"You will need to keep your Anti-Magic wavelength active for the duration of the procedure, which will be perhaps 5-10 minutes, since we're keeping the portal small. When was the last time you had a full night's rest? Do you think you can maintain that kind of focus?"

"Of course I can! It's not like I'm not used to pain! I can do this!"

"No one is questioning your abilities, Maka," Marie inserted. "Just whether or not this is a good time for you to use them. I understand you're anxious, but maybe you should rest first and recover your strength. We don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not going to rest anyway; I can't. Just let me-"

She broke off, turning sharply towards the door. Stein felt it too, the presence, the distortions rippling towards them like sound through water. He set his coffee down and grabbed Marie by the elbow, looking at Maka. The young meister, sensing his gaze, turned to face him, her expression hard. They both knew.

"Blaire," Stein commanded. "Get Maka set up in the lab and begin the procedure. Under no circumstance are you to stop, or come out until I come and get you. That goes for you as well Maka. Regardless of what's happening you do not come out, understand?"

"But-"

"Do not argue with me. I'm risking enough as it is, do not add your life to the list. Now Marie, come with me."

"Why? What's happening Franken?"

"He's coming," said Maka in a sharp voice, her breath short. "He's almost here. Damn, how did we not notice sooner?"

"Pendra must be using some form of Soul Protect to shield herself and Crona, which is why we couldn't find them using our Soul Perception. He's moving fast, but must've come from somewhere close by to have snuck up on us like this. That, and the witch's influence has deformed his soul. Now go quickly. Marie and I will hold him off."

"Crona…" she whispered, taking a small step towards the door. "He's… almost here."

"Maka focus," Stein reprimanded sharply, freezing her in place. "The only thing you can do for him right now is go with Blaire. Go now!"

The meister tightened her jaw and held her trembling fists stiffly by her sides, almost snarling. Blaire trotted up behind her and rubbed a cheek on her calf. When that didn't elicit an immediate response the cat stood on her hind legs and pawed at Maka's skirt. Swallowing hard, Maka closed her eyes to center herself. Then she brushed Blaire off, turned, and moved quickly to the lab. Blaire swished her tail in annoyance and followed, closing the door behind them with the flick of a paw.

Marie and Stein watched the two go carefully before exiting through the front door. Outside the night was dense, cold and more humid than the day. Blood ran over the moon's massive grin, leaking from between its teeth ominously. The night sky was purple and starless, contrasting vividly with the yellow of the moon and the red of the blood. And through that sky a single, black figure was advancing.

"Franken," Marie said in a low voice as they moved past the fence and into the clearing. "Let's talk to him first. Maybe we can get through to him. Maybe we can-"

"Marie, I know this is going to be hard for you, seeing him like this. But if Vera is to be believed, then I doubt there will be much we can do aside from containing him. You need to prepare yourself."

Marie pursed her lips, plunging them into an uncomfortable silence that seemed to last an eternity. Or maybe it was that, through the sheer magnitude of their desire to avoid what was about to happen, they were holding time itself at bay. Then time broke through their barrier.

The black form eclipsed the moon, bat-like winds spread wide before the bloody smile, then descended, landing just outside the bubble of street light in which they stood. Breathing echoed through the night, mixed with the sounds of shuffling footsteps in sand. And slowly, swaying, he emerged. Black, crushed velvet caught the light, highlighting the contours of his body. It covered his arms from shoulder to wrist, spread tightly across his torso, and hung in loose folds down his legs to the ground. Only his back and throat were exposed, ghostly pale from the nape of his neck to his tailbone. Pale… except for the black chitin of the centipede. A single, massive body that ran the length of his spine, it's blood red legs buried into the flesh on either side of the bone. The forcipules pierced his neck, digging into the soft skin below his ears, delivering a constant stream of venom. When he looked at them through is disheveled pink hair, it was with icy blue eyes, sunken and bruised as if he hadn't slept in days. Marie let out a desperate cry and he paused, blinking.

"Crona," she tried softly, making a move towards him. Stein grabbed her wrist, giving her a sharp, cautionary look. She licked her lips nervously and spoke again. "Crona."

"Miss… Marie?"

His voice was soft and dry, the words sliding over chapped lips barely audible. He blinked again, harder, confusion coming into his features. A shudder ran through his body and he bent forward, bringing his hands to his face, pressing his eyes into his palms and whining.

"Miss Marie, Professor Stein-"

The forcipules tightened, bringing forth beads of Black Blood which left glinting trails as they ran down the sides of his neck. Crona howled, knotting his fingers in his hair and folding in half. Marie tore away from Stein, but didn't get more than three steps towards the pink haired meister before the screams turned to bone chilling laughter. She froze, fear budding in her gut as that laughter cut into her, like nothing she'd ever heard. His entire body shook with giggles, resonating in the darkness, and he straightened again, letting his hands fall to his sides. His eyes moved to the couple, but this time they were black as his blood, wide and shining and vacant. Blood welled up like tears, spilling down his cheeks and onto his twisted lips. More oozed from the corners of his mouth, from his scalp, and from his nail beds, dripping from his fingertips. It pooled on the sand, sitting on top of the silica for a moment before filtering through the granules, leaving a dark stain.

"Crona stop it," Marie shouted, unable to stand the inhuman laughter emitting from the meister.

"That's not going to work," he managed, shoulders shaking. "I know what I am now, so that won't work anymore. _I'm_ supposed to stop _you_. I'm _going_ to stop you."

"Marie, come here," hissed Stein, holding out his hand, but she waved him off.

"No, Franken, wait. It's the centipede that's controlling him; we need to get that thing off or kill it."

Stein opened his mouth to protest, but Marie silenced him with a fierce, golden look. So instead he gave her a single nod, settling back into a battle stance. She forced a smile, transforming her hand into a hammer and returning her attention to Crona.

"I don't know if you can understand me right now," she said in a stern tone. "But I want you to know we're going to save you."

He stopped laughing at that, his expression darkening. The Black Blood pealed up off the sand, curling into thorny vines at his feet. Marie didn't wait for the attack she knew was coming, leaping into the air and aiming a hard strike at his skull. It didn't matter how hard his blood was, that would disorient him at least for a minute. Crona tracked her with his eyes, stretching out a hand to ward off the blow. At the last second Marie did a flip, hurtling over his outstretched fingers, then extending again and cracking him just above his left ear. It didn't have the force she'd intended, but he stumbled nevertheless, exposing his back. Seeing a chance, Marie went for the centipede and was caught off guard when Crona's vines shot upwards between them. Her forearm tangled in the thorns, causing her to hiss in pain and withdraw.

"Save me," he growled, bringing the bloodied thorns to his face as if to inspect them. "Save me?! A pitch black being like me?! Don't you know what I am?!"

Stein came up behind him while he was distracted, charging his palm with his soul wavelength. If he could even just graze the centipede-

"Don't touch me!"

There was a horrible crunching, snapping noise and Stein grunted in agony, pulling his mangled hand in towards his chest. Crona didn't stop there, lifting the professor into the air with his mind and holding him suspended. Marie yelled, taking advantage of his focus to break through the vines with a powerful strike from her hammer. They made a crystalline sound as they shattered, causing Crona to shiver and drop Stein. His head snapped to her, pink hair falling across black eyes, but she was committed now. Rotating from the hips, she swung her hammer a second time, catching him right in the chest and sending him flying back.

"Franken, are you alright," she called, cautiously moving to his side.

"Broken wrist," he answered, grimacing. "But I'll manage. Marie, we need to keep him away from the lab. At least until Blaire and Maka finish. Then we'll need to get into the city and give the crystal time to charge with Maka's wavelength."

"No Franken, we need to get that thing off him," Marie insisted, helping him to his feet. "We can't leave him like this. We can't just…"

She trailed off, frowning sadly. There was a cloud of dust where Crona had hit the ground, the street light scattering off the particles and framing a dark figure within. Vines of blood rose above his head, coiling in the air ominously. The moon chortled, amused by the violence.

"I'm supposed to stop you… She told me to stop you… Why can't you just die? Just die already!"

The ground burst open as Black Blood tore out of it, spraying the sky with sand as vines rushed towards them. Stein and Marie leapt clear at the last moment, forcing the column to choose its direction. It wrapped around Marie's ankles, bringing her to the ground. She swung at the coiling stems, but they were thicker than the previous ones and didn't yield to her hammer. They did to Stein's soul wavelength though, collapsing back into liquid when his charged palm met their barbed surface. Crimson blood ran from his hand down his forearm, and stained Marie's yellow shoes as it pulsed from her wounds. She tried to stand, but the thorns had cut too deep; her leg refused to support her weight. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Stein wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her up, giving the dust cloud an appraising look.

"Just die… just die…" Crona muttered, staggering forward.

His black eyes both caught and devoured the lamplight, like unrecognizing pits of oblivion that both rejected and fought to destroy everything they saw. Stein could see himself reflected in those eyes, feel his own Madness pull his lips into a twisted grin. What, he caught himself wondering, was going on just beneath the skin? The upper layers lacked vasculature; they would easily peel away and expose the vast inner workings of Medusa's creation. A creation that would keep its host alive as he worked, that would allow him access to secrets no other body could provide. If he could just-

"Franken? Franken!"

Marie's voice slapped him and he grunted in physical pain, reeling back from the Madness Crona's pulsating insanity had summoned within him. Usually her stabilizing wavelength was sufficient to keep him steady, but for some reason he couldn't feel it- couldn't feel _her,_ even though she was right next to him.

"Franken, are you with me," she asked again, staring up at him with a golden gaze filled with sunlight.

"Yes," he answered, chancing a look back and a wry smile. "But we have a problem; proximity to Crona is stimulating my suppressed Madness. We need to end this quickly, before I too loose control. Marie, I need you to transform."

She made a face that might've been either disapproving or resigned, pulling away from his side. In a swirl of brilliant light her human form disappeared, compressing into a large war hammer. Without hesitation Stein reached out to grasp the leather wrapped handle, but instead of the warm partnership to which he'd become accustomed arcs of electricity pushed the two apart. In her weapon form she had rejected him; their souls could not resonate.

"What is this?! What's happened," her voice exclaimed from the steel, confused face flashing across the reflective surface as the hammer hovered.

"Haven't you figured it out yet," Crona answered, halting his advance to giggle at their hopeless situation. "Don't you know what I am? I'm toxic, my thorns are poisoned with my emotions. And now you are too. You can't resonate- you can't do anything! You'll be swallowed by the Madness, you'll dissolve in the Madness."

His smile widened, gash-like and cavernous in the night, his bloodstained teeth creating the illusion that there was a black void inside him. Or maybe… it was more of a metaphor… More literal even than that… The hell inside his head given form, released into reality, diffusing outwards like blood in water. Medusa's creation finally matured, executing its intended directive, finally free of all pretense of humanity.

But then he faltered. A stream of warm air passed over his lips as they relaxed, eyebrows knitted in uncertainty. The tendons in his neck visibly strained, pulling pale skin taught as shadows danced in the hollow above his sternum. The blood on his face and hands sunk back through his pores without leaving any residue and, trembling, he reached one arm across his chest to grasp the other. The centipede tightened its bite again, bringing forth a fresh pulse of Black Blood and causing him to wince, but it was to no avail. For a moment, even if it was just a moment, he was Crona again.

"Maka…" he breathed, eyes sliding towards Stein's house, to a figure standing at the gate.

"Get back inside," Stein yelled, waving a hand through the air as if he could throw her towards the door with the sheer force of his will. "Get back inside now!"

There were two possibilities: she was so focused on Crona she genuinely didn't hear him or she had heard and was willfully ignoring. Given her track record of disobedience when in came to Crona Stein was inclined to believe the latter, yet there was something about her expression. Her jaw was set and her brow furrowed, tears of pain and effort gleaming in her emerald eyes, causing them to shimmer more than usual. Just like with Marie, he reached out to sense Maka's soul and felt nothing, but the strain in her face told him what he wanted to know. She was trying to resonate with Crona, to reach through the whirl of Madness and magic to the person she loved. And she was succeeding, albeit barely.

"Don't look at me like that," Crona said, firmer, his expression darkening as his head turned towards her. "Don't look at me like you understand me. You left me. You left me!"

"I… I didn't mean to," she cried back through gritted teeth, her fingers pressing against the fence post as her entire body contracted with effort. "But I'm here now! Stop this! Come back with me!"

"It's too late… too late… She's inside me, I can hear her inside my head, I can feel her in my blood. I can't pretend anymore… I _am_ a tool; I was _created_ to obey, _created_ to destroy. I can't be different…"

"I don't believe that and neither do you! Crona please-"

"Stop it," he snapped, dropping his arm and making fists at his sides. "Stop it with this light! It hurts!"

A telekinetic force pulsed from his body, pushing air and sand into a wave that crashed over them like a momentary storm. Maka faltered, bringing her arms up to protect her face and losing focus for just a moment. It was enough. Crona's vines redirected, slithering like serpents, repositioning towards their new target as he himself turned fully to face her. Leaving his back and the centipede imbedded into it exposed. Stein didn't think, he just reacted, grabbing the handle of Marie's hammer and swinging. His flesh hissed as she burnt him, the blood pulsing from his wounds steaming, making the leather wrapping both slippery and sticky. Crona looked back over his shoulder to investigate the sound, his black eyes vacant once more, and winced away from the impact. But Stein was committed, the weapon arcing faster than Crona could get away, and though the attack didn't land perfectly, he felt the hammer make impact. The corner caught the centipede in the side, lifting it away from his skin and tearing it from three of its own legs.

There was a grotesque cacophony of agonized screams and ripping flesh then, in a whirl of Black Blood, Crona took to the sky once again. Maka yelled and took off after him, but her legs gave out after only a few strides. She pushed herself up, slipping around in the sand, and tried again with the same effect. The third time Stein caught her wrist, hooking his fingers around her bone so as to avoid any contact with his burnt flesh. Marie, returned to her human form, kneeled beside him, watching the grains of silica darken with her own blood.

"He's gone," he said in a low, stern voice. "He's gone."


End file.
